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The  GRAND 
CANYON  of 
ARIZONA  ^ 


BEING  A  BOOK  OF  WORDS  FROM  MANY 
PENS,  ABOUT  THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF 
THE   COLORADO    RIVER   IN  ARIZONA. 


Published  by  the 
Passenger  Department  of  the  Santa  Fe. 

1906. 


7  K  t 


l-f  ^M\t.i<i4 


Copyright,  1906 
by  W.  J.  Black. 


POOLE  BROS.   CHICAQO. 


u.  o. 

ACADEMY   OF 
•ACIFIC  COAST 

HisTomy 


CONTENTS. 

The  Titan  of  Chasms,       .     .     .     .     -     ...     C.  A.  Higgins,         9 

The  Scientific  Explorer,         J.  W.  Powell, 18 

The  Greatest  Thing  in  the  World,      .     .     .     C.  F.  Lummis,        ^^ 

A  Gash  in  Nature's  Bared  Breast,        .     .     .     J.  L.  Stoddard, 38 

Engineering  in  the  Grand  Canyon,      .     .     .      R.  B.  Stanton, 43 

Its  Ineffable  Beauty, Harriet  Monroe, 54 

A  New  Wonder  of  the  World,       ....     Joaquin  Miller, 58 

The  Grand  Canyon  at  Night, Hamlin  Garland, 61 

On  the   Bright  Angel  Trail, William  Allen  White,       ....  6^ 

The  Canyon  by  Dark  and  by  Day,     .     .     .     C.  S.  Gleed,        66 

The  Geology  of  the  Grand  Canyon  Region,      R.  D.  Salisbury, 68 

The  Witchery  of  It  All, Nat  M.  Brigham,^ 83 

American  Art  and  American  Scenery,       .     .     Thomas  Moran, 85 

The  Land  of  Patience, David  Starr  Jordan, 88 

On  the  Brink  of  the  Canyon, Charles  Dudley  Warner,       ...  89 

A  Rhapsody,     ^ "Fitz-Mac,"       ......  91 

Climbing  Sunset  Mountain, C.  E.  Beecher, 97 

Cataract  Canyon, H.  P.  Ewing, 102 

John  Hance:  A  Study, Hamlin  Garland, 106 

Comments, no 

Information  for  Tourists, 121 

Map  of  the  Canyon  Region, 129 


C.  A.  HIGGINS. 


THE   TITAN  OF  CHASMS. 

BY  C.  A.  HIGGINS. 

■^  The  following  description  of  the  Grand  Canyon  region  is 
condensed  from  an  article  written  ten  years  ago  by  Mr.  C.  A. 
Higgins,  and  published  in  pamphlet  form  by  the  passenger 
department  of  the  Santa  Fe. 

Mr.  Higgins  (who,  at  the  time  of  his  sudden  death  in  1900, 
occupied  the  position  of  Assistant  General  Passenger  Agent  of 
the  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  Ry.  in  special  charge  of  advertising)  knew  the 
Grand  Canyon  more  intimately  than  most  men  who  have  written 
of  it.  He  had  descended  all  the  trails  and  had  camped  for 
weeks  in  the  inner  gorge  and  along  the  rim.  He  had  visited  it 
with  artists,  lecturers,  explorers  and  scientists.  He  had  read 
everything  of  value  written  about  it.  This  research,  acquaintance 
and  experience  took  root  in  a  well-trained  mind,  keen  for  facts 
and  tenacious  of  impressions.  He  was  a  most  lovable  man,  who  appreciated  books,  music, 
pictures,  poetry  and  nature.  Enjoying  such  things,  he  loved  the  Grand  Canyon — there  is 
no  other  word  so  well  expresses  the  relation.  And  being  a  lover,  he  wrote  from  the  heart. 
Mr.  Higgins  also  loved  the  great  Southwest,  big  with  historic,  scenic  and  human 
Interest.  His  grasp  of  the  ancient  and  modern  in  Indian  life  (facilitated  by  membership  in 
one  of  the  most  exclusive  Moki  secret  societies),  would  ultimately  have  made  him  promi- 
nent among  ethnologists.  His  painstaking,  his  direct  sympathy,  his  helpfulness  to  men  of 
science,  were  unexampled.  He  caught  the  deeper  significance  of  symbol  and  design;  their 
translation  revealed  to  him  the  meaning  of  the  past  and  the  purpose  of  the  present  among 
these  children  of  the  desert.  His  researches  among  the  dwellers  in  the  skylight  cities  of 
Arizona  were  as  fruitful  in  practical  results  as  his  kindred  study  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 

ITS    HISTORY. 

|aHE  Colorado  is  one  of  the  great  rivers  of  North  America.  Formed  in 
southern  Utah  by  the  confluence  of  the  Green  and  Grand,  it  intersects  the 
north'^estern  corner  of  Arizona,  and,  becoming  the  eastern  boundary  of 
Nevada  and  California,  flows  southward  until  it  reaches  tidewater  in  the  Gulf 
of  California,  Mexico.  It  drains  a  territory  of  300,000  square  miles,  and, 
traced  back  to  the  rise  of  its  principal  source,  is  2,000  miles  long.  At  two  points. 
Needles  and  Yuma  on  the  California  boundary,  it  is  crossed  by  a  railroad.  Elsewhere 
its  course  lies  far  from  Caucasian  settlements  and  far  from  the  routes  of  common  travel, 
in  the  heart  of  a  vast  region  fenced  on  the  one  hand  by  arid  plains  or  deep  forests  and 
on  the  other  by  formidable  mountains.  ■* 

The  early  Spanish  explorers  first  reported  it  to  the  civilized  world  in  1540,  two 
separate  expeditions  becoming  acquainted  with  the  river  for  a  comparatively  short  distance 
above  its  mouth,  and  another,  journeying  from  the  Moki  Pueblos  northwestward  across 
the  desert,  obtaining  the  first  view  of  the  Big  Canyon,  failing  in  every  effort  to  descend 
the  canyon  wall,  and  spying  the  river  only  frorti  afar. 

Again,  in  1776,  a  Spanish  priest  traveling  southward  through  Utah  struck  oflF  from 
the  Virgin  River  to  the  southeast  and  found  a  practicable  crossing  at  a  point  that  still 
bears  the  name  "Vado  de  los  Padres." 


THE  TITAN  OF  CHASMS. C.  A.  HIGGINS, 

For  more  than  eighty  years  thereafter  the  Big  Canyon  remained  unvisited,  except  by 
the  Indian,  the  Mormon  herdsman  and  the  trapper,  although  the  Sitgreaves  expedition 
of  1 85 1,  journeying  westward,  struck  the  river  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  above 
Yuma,  and  Lieutenant  Whipple  in  1854  made  a  survey  for  a  practicable  railroad  route 
along  the  thirty-fifth  parallel,  where  the  Santa  Fe  Pacific  has  since  been  constructed. 

The  estabhshment  of  military  posts  in  New  Mexico  and  Utah  having  made  desirable 
the  use  of  a  water-way  for  the  cheap  transportation  of  supplies,  in  1857  the  War  Depart- 
ment dispatched  an  expedition  in  charge  of  Lieutenant  Ives  to  explore  the  Colorado  as 
far  from  its  mouth  as  navigation  should  be  found  practicable.  Ives  ascended  the  river 
in  a  specially  constructed  steamboat  to  the  head  of  Black  Canyon,  a  few  miles  below  the 
confluence  of  the  Virgin  River  in  Nevada,  where  further  navigation  became  impossible; 
then,  returning  to  the  Needles,  he  set  off  across  the  country  toward  the  northeast.  He 
reached  the  Big  Canyon  at  Diamond  Creek  and  at  Cataract  Creek  in  the  spring  of  1858, 
and  from  the  latter  point  made  a  wide  southward  detour  around  the  San  Francisco  peaks, 
thence  northeastward  to  the  Moki  Pueblos,  thence  eastward  to  Fort  Defiance  and  so 
back  to  civilization. 

That  is  the  history  of  the  explorations  of  the  Colorado  up  to  forty  years  ago.  Its 
exact  course  was  unknown  for  many  hundred  miles,  even  its  origin  being  a  matter  of 
conjecture,  it  being  difficult  to  approach  within  a  distance  of  two  or  three  miles  from  the 
channel,  while  descent  to  the  river's  edge  could  be  hazarded  only  at  wide  intervals, 
inasmuch  as  it  lay  in  an  appalling  fissure  at  the  foot  of  seemingly  impassable  cliff  terraces 
that  led  down  from  the  bordering  plateau;  and  to  attempt  its  navigation  was  to  court 
death.  It  was  known  in  a  general  way  that  the  entire  channel  between  Nevada  and  Utah 
was  of  the  same  titanic  character,  reaching  its  culmination  nearly  midway  in  its  course 
through  Arizona. 

In  1869  Maj.  J.  W.  Powell  undertook  the  exploration  of  the  river  with  nine  men 
and  four  boats,  starting  from  Green  River  City,  on  the  Green  River,  in  Utah.  The 
project  met  with  the  most  urgent  remonstrance  from  those  who  were  best  acquainted  with 
the  region,  including  the  Indians,  who  maintained  that  boats  could  not  possibly  live  in 
any  one  of  a  score  of  rapids  and  falls  known  to  them,  to  say  nothing  of  the  vast  unknown 
stretches  in  which  at  any  moment  a  Niagara  might  be  disclosed.  It  was  also  currently 
believed  that  for  hundreds  of  miles  the  river  disappeared  wholly  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  earth.  Powell  launched  his  flotilla  on  May  24,  and  on  August  30  landed  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Virgin  River,  more  than  one  thousand  miles  by  the  river  channel  from  the 
place  of  starting,  minus  two  boats  and  four  men.  One  of  the  men  had  left  the  expedition 
by  way  of  an  Indian  reservation  agency  before  reaching  Arizona,  and  three,  after  holding 
out  against  unprecedented  terrors  for  many  weeks,  had  finally  become  daunted,  choosing 
to  encounter  the  perils  of  an  unknown  desert  rather  than  to  brave  any  longer  the  frightful 
menaces  of  that  Stygian  torrent.  These  three,  unfortunately  making  their  appearance 
on  the  plateau  at  a  time  when  a  recent  depredation  was  colorably  chargeable  upon  them, 
were  killed  by  Indians,  their  story  of  having  come  thus  far  down  the  river  in  boats  being 
wholly  discredited  by  their  captors. 

Powell's  journal  of  the  trip  is  a  fascinating  tale,  written  in  a  compact  and  modest 
style,  which,  in  spite  of  its  reticence,  tells  an  epic  story  of  purest  heroism.  It  definitely 
established  the  scene  of  his  exploration  as  the  most  wonderful  geological  and  spectacular 
phenomenon  known  to  mankind,  and  justified  the  name  which  had  been  bestowed  upon 

10 


THE  TITAN  OF  CHASMS. 


C.  A.  HIGGINS. 


it — The  Grand  Canyon- 
est   of  gorges;   Titan    of 


sublim- 
chasms. 
Many  scientists  have  since  visited 
it,  and,  in  the  aggregate,  a  large 
number  of  unprofessional  lovers  of 
nature;  but  until  a  few  years  ago 
no  adequate  facilities  were  provided 
for  the  general  sight-seer,  and  the 
world's  most  stupendous  pano- 
rama was  known  principally  through 
report,  by  reason  of  the  discomforts 
and  difficulties  of  the  trip,  which 
deterred  all  except  the  most  inde- 
fatigable enthusiasts. 

BRIGHT  ANGEL  CAMP  AND  START  DOWN  TRAIL.  The  building  of  a  railroad  to 

the  rim  and  of  a  modern  hotel  at  the  rail  terminus  have  made  the  Canyon  side-ride  pleas- 
urable for  that  large  class  who  enjoy  being  whirled  speedily  across  country  in  commodious 
cars,  rather  than  slowly  stage  it,  and  who  likewise  prefer  all  the  comforts  of  up-to-date  club 
life  to  the  uncertainties  of  pioneer  fare.  You  and  I  might  wish  to  hark  back  to  the  old  ways 
of  travel;  the  average  man  and  woman  better  likes  the  luxurious  transit  of  to-day.  That  is 
why  canyon  visitors  are  now  numbered  by  thousands  as  compared  with  the  small  parties 
of  a  decade  ago. 

Even  its  geographical  location  is  the  subject  of  widespread  misapprehension.  Its 
title  has  been  pirated  for  application  to  relatively  insignificant  canyons  in  distant  parts  of 
the  country,  and  thousands  of  tourists  have  been  led  to  believe  that  they  saw  the  Grand 
Canyon,  when,  in  fact,  they  looked  upon  a  totally  diffisrent  scene,  between  which  and 
the  real  Grand  Canyon  there  is  no  more  comparison  "than  there  is  between  the  Alle- 
hanies  or  Trosachs  and  the  Himalayas." 

There  is  but  one  Grand  Canyon.  Nowhere  in  the  world  has  its  like  been  found. 
AS  SEEN  FROM  THE  RIM. 
Stolid  indeed  is  he  who  can 
front  the  awful  scene  and  view  its 
unearthly  splendor  of  color  and 
form  without  quaking  knee  or 
tremulous  breath.  An  inferno, 
swathed  in  soft  celestial  fires;  a 
whole  chaotic  under-world,  just 
emptied  of  primeval  floods  and 
waiting  for  a  new  creative  word; 
eluding  all  sense  of  perspective  or 
dimension,  outstretching  the  fac- 
ulty of  measurement,  overlapping 
the  confines  of  definite  apprehen- 
sion; a  boding,  terrible  thing,  un- 
flinchingly real,   yet  spectral   as  a 

a   dream.     The     beholder     is     at     first  copyright,  im.  by  Putnam  &ralenUne. 

II  MAIN  INDIAN  CURIO   ROOM,   HOPI   HOUSE. 


A  VIEW  FROM  THE  NORTH  WALL. 


Photo,  Putnam  dt  Valentine. 


THE  TITAN  OF  CHASMS. C.  A.  HIGGINS. 

unimpressed  by  any  detail;  he  is  overwhelmed  by  the  ensemble  of  a  stupendous  panorama, 
a  thousand  square  miles  in  extent,  that  lies  wholly  beneath  the  eye,  as  if  he  stood  upon  a 
mountain  peak  instead  of  the  level  brink  of  a  fearful  chasm  in  the  plateau  whose  opposite 
shore  is  thirteen  miles  away.  A  labyrinth  of  huge  architectural  forms,  endlessly  varied 
in  design,  fretted  with  ornamental  devices,  festooned  with  lace-like  webs  formed  of  talus 
from  the  upper  cliffs  and  painted  with  every  color  known  to  the  palette  in  pure  trans- 
parent tones  of  marvelous  delicacy.  Never  was  picture  more  harmonious,  never  flower 
more  exquisitely  beautiful.  It  flashes  instant  communication  of  all  that  architecture  and 
painting  and  music  for  a  thousand  years  have  gropingly  striven  to  express.  It  is  the  J 
soul  of  Michael  Angelo  and  of  Beethoven. 

A  canyon,  truly,  but  not  after  the  accepted  type.  An  intricate  system  of  canyons, 
rather,  each  subordinate  to  the  river  channel  in  the  midst,  which  in  its  turn  is  subordi- 
nate to  the  whole  effect.  That  river  channel,  the  profoundest  depth,  and  actually  more 
than  6,000  feet  below  the  point  of  view,  is  in  seeming  a  rather  insignificant  trench,  attract- 
ing the  eye  more  by  reason  of  its  somber  tone  and  mysterious  suggestion  than  by  any 
appreciable  characteristic  of  a  chasm.  It  is  perhaps  five  miles  distant  in  a  straight  line, 
and  its  uppermost  rims  are  nearly  4,000  feet  beneath  the  observer,  whose  measuring 
capacity  is  entirely  inadequate  to  the  demand  made  by  such  magnitudes.  One  cannot 
believe  the  distance  to  be  more  than  a  mile  as  the  crow  flies,  before  descending  the  wall 
or  attempting  some  other  form  of  actual  measurement. 

Mere  brain  knowledge  counts  for  little  against  the  illusion  under  which  the  organ  of 
vision  is  here  doomed  to  labor.  Yonder  cliff,  darkening  from  white  to  gray,  yellow  and 
brown  as  your  glance  descends,  is  taller  than  the  Washington  Monument.  The  Audito- 
rium in  Chicago  would  not  cover  one-half  its  perpendicular  span.  Yet  it  does  not  greatly 
impress  you.  You  idly  toss  a  pebble  toward  it,  and  are  surprised  to  note  how  far  the 
missile  falls  short.  By  and  by  you  will  learn  that  it  is  a  good  half  mile  distant,  and  when 
you  go  down  the  trail  you  will  gain  an  abiding  sense  of  its  real  proportions.  Yet,  rela- 
tively, it  is  an  unimportant  detail  of  the  scene.  Were  Vulcan  to  cast  it  bodily  into  the 
chasm  directly  beneath  your  feet,  it  would  pass  for  a  bowlder,  if  indeed  it  were  discover- 
able to  the  unaided  eye. 

Yet  the  immediate  chasm  itself  is  only  the  first  step  of  a  long  terrace  that  leads  down 
to  the  innermost  gorge  and  the  river.  Roll  a  heavy  stone  to  the  rim  and  let  it  go.  It 
falls  sheer  the  height  of  a  church  or  an  Eiffel  Tower,  according  to  the  point  selected  for 
such  pastime,  and  explodes  Hke  a  bomb  on  a  projecting  ledge.  If,  happily,  any  consid- 
erable fragments  remain,  they  bound  onward  like  elastic  balls,  leaping  in  wild  parabola 
from  point  to  point,  snapping  trees  like  straws;  bursting,  crashing,  thundering  down  the 
declivities  until  they  make  a  last  plunge  over  the  brink  of  a  void;  and  then  there  comes 
languidly  up  the  cliff  sides  a  faint,  distant  roar,  and  your  bowlder  that  had  withstood  the 
buffets  of  centuries  lies  scattered  as  wide  as  Wycliffe's  ashes,  although  the  final  fragment 
has  lodged  only  a  little  way,  so  to  speak,  below  the  rim.  Such  performances  are  fre- 
quently given  in  these  amphitheaters  without  human  aid,  by  the  mere  undermining  of' 
the  rain,  or  perhaps  it  is  here  that  Sisyphus  rehearses  his  unending  task.  Often  in  the 
silence  of  night  some  tremendou-s  fragment  has  been  heard  crashing  from  terrace  to  terrace 
with  shocks  like  thunder  peal. 

The  spectacle  is  so  symmetrical,  and  so  completely  excludes  the  outside  world  and 
its  accustomed  standards,  it  is  with  difficulty  one  can  acquire  any  notion  of  its  immensity. 

13 


THE  TITAN  OF  CHASMS. 


C.  A.  HIGGINS. 


Were  it  half  as  deep,  half  as  broad,  it  would  be  no  less  bewildering,  so  utterly  does  it 
baffle  human  grasp. 

THE   TRIP   TO   THE    RIVER. 

Only  by  descending  into  the  canyon  may  one  arrive  at  anything  like  comprehension 
of  its  proportions,  and  the  descent  cannot  be  too  urgently  commended  to  every  visitor 
who  is  sufficiently  robust  to  bear  a  reasonable  amount  of  fatigue.  There  are  four  paths 
down  the  southern  wall  of  the  canyon  in  the  granite  gorge  district — Bass,  Bright  Angel, 
Grand  View  and  Red  Canyon  trails.  The  following  account  of  a  descent  of  the 
old  Hance  trail,  near  Grand  View,  will  serve  to  indicate  the  nature  of  such  an  experience 
to-day,  except  that  the  trip  may  now  be  safely  made  with  greater  comfort. 

For  the  first  two  miles  it  is  a  sort  of  Jacob's  ladder,  zigzagging  at  an  unrelenting 
pitch.  At  the  end  of  two  miles  a  comparatively  gentle  slope  is  reached,  known  as  the 
blue  limestone  level,  some  2,500  feet  below  the  rim;  that  is  to  say — for  such  figures 
have  to  be  impressed  objectively  upon  the  mind — five  times  the  height  of  St.  Peter's, 
the  Pyramid  of  Cheops  or  the  Strasburg  Cathedral;  eight  times  the  height  of  the 
Bartholdi    Statue   of  Liberty;    eleven   times   the   height   of   Bunker    Hill    Monument. 


ASCENDING  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 


Fhoto,  a.  L.  Rose 


H 


THE  TITAN  OF  CHASMS. C.  A.  HIGGINS. 

Looking  back  from  this  level  the  huge  picturesque  towers  that  border  the  rim  shrink  to 
pigmies  and  seem  to  crown  a  perpendicular  wall,  unattainably  far  in  the  sky.  Yet  less 
than  one-half  the  descent  has  been  made. 

Overshadowed  by  sandstone  of  chocolate  hue  the  way  grows  gloomy  and  foreboding, 
and  the  gorge  narrows.  The  traveler  stops  a  moment  beneath  a  slanting  cliff  500  feet 
high,  where  there  is  an  Indian  grave  and  pottery  scattered  about.  A  gigantic  niche  has 
been  worn  in  the  face  of  this  cavernous  cliff,  which,  in  recognition  of  its  fancied  Egyptian 
character,  was  named  the  Temple  of  Sett  by  the  painter,  Thomas  Moran. 

A  little  beyond  this  temple  it  becomes  necessary  to  abandon  the  animals.  The  river 
is  still  a  mile  and  a  half  distant.  The  way  narrows  now  to  a  mere  notch,  where  two 
wagons  could  barely  pass,  and  the  granite  begins  to  tower  gloomily  overhead,  for  we  have 
dropped  below  the  sandstone  and  have  entered  the  archean — a  frowning  black  rock, 
streaked,  veined  and  swirled  with  vivid  red  and  white,  smoothed  and  polished  by  the 
rivulet  and  beautiful  as  a  mosaic.  Obstacles  are  encountered  in  the  form  of  steep  inter- 
posing crags,  past  which  the  brook  has  found  a  way,  but  over  which  the  pedestrian  must 
clamber.  After  these  lesser  difficulties  come  sheer  descents,  which  at  present  arc  passed 
by  the  aid  of  ropes. 

The  last  considerable  drop  is  a  forty-foot  bit  by  the  side  of  a  pretty  cascade,  where 
there  are  just  enough  irregularities  in  the  wall  to  give  toe-hold.  The  narrowed  cleft 
becomes  exceedingly  wayward  in  its  course,  turning  abruptly  to  right  and  left,  and  work- 
ing down  into  twilight  depths.  It  is  very  still.  At  every  turn  one  looks  to  see  the 
embouchure  upon  the  river,  anticipating  the  sudden  shock  of  the  unintercepted  roar  of 
waters.  When  at  last  this  is  reached,  over  a  final  downward  clamber,  the  traveler  stands 
upon  a  sandy  rift  confronted  by  nearly  vertical  walls  many  hundred  feet  high,  at  whose 
base  a  black  torrent  pitches  in  a  giddying  onward  slide  that  gives  him  momentarily  the 
sensation  of  slipping  into  an  abyss. 

With  so  little  labor  may  one  come  to  the  Colorado  River  in  the  heart  of  its  most 
tremendous  channel,  and  gaze  upon  a  sight  that  heretofore  has  had  fewer  witnesses  than 
have  the  wilds  of  Africa.  Dwarfed  by  such  prodigious  mountain  shores,  which  rise 
immediately  from  the  water  at  an  angle  that  would  deny  footing  to  a  mountain  sheep,  it  is 
not  easy  to  estimate  confidently  the  width  and  volume  of  the  river.  Choked  by  the 
stubborn  granite  at  this  point,  its  width  is  probably  between  250  and  300  feet,  its  velocity 
fifteen  miles  an  hour,  and  its  volume  and  turmoil  equal  to  the  Whirlpool  Rapids  of 
Niagara.  Its  rise  in  time  of  heavy  rain  is  rapid  and  appalling,  for  the  walls  shed  almost 
instantly  all  the  water  thai  falls  upon  them.  Drift  is  lodged  in  the  crevices  thirty  feet 
overhead. 

For  only  a  few  hundred  yards  is  the  tortuous  stream  visible,  but  its  effect  upon  the 
senses  is  perhaps  the  greater  for  that  reason.  Issuing  as  from  a  mountain  side,  it  slides 
with  oily  smoothness  for  a  space  and  suddenly  breaks  into  violent  waves  that  comb 
back  against  the  current  and  shoot  unexpectedly  here  and  there,  while  the  volume  sways 
tide-like  from  side  to  side,  and  long  curling  breakers  form  and  hold  their  outline  length- 
wise of  the  shore,  despite  the  seemingly  irresistible  velocity  of  the  water.  The  river  is 
laden  with  drift  (huge  tree  trunks),  which  it  tosses  like  chips  in  its  terrible  play. 

Standing  upon  that  shore  one  can  barely  credit  Powell's  achievement,  in  spite  of  its 
absolute  authenticity.  Never  was  a  more  magnificent  self-reliance  displayed  than  by  the 
man  who  not  only  undertook  the  passage  of  Colorado  River  but  won  his  way.     And  after 

15 


THE  TITAN  OF  CHASMS. 


C.  A.  HIGGINS. 


viewing  a  fraction  of  the  scene  at  close  range,  one  cannot  hold  it  to  the  discredit  of  three 
of  his  companions  that  they  abandoned  the  undertaking  not  far  below  this  point.  The 
fact  that  those  who  persisted  got  through  alive  is  hardly  more  astonishing  than  that  any 
should  have  had  the  hardihood  to  persist.  For  it  could  not  have  been  alone  the  privation, 
the  infinite  toil,  the  unending  suspense  in  constant  menace  of  death  that  assaulted  their 
courage;  these  they  had  looked  for;  it  was  rather  the  unlifted  gloom  of  those  tartarean 
depths,  the  unspeakable  horrors  of  an  endless  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  in  which 
every  step  was  irrevocable. 

Returning  to  the  spot  where  the  animals  were  abandoned,  camp  is  made  for  the  night. 
Next  morning  the  way  is  retraced.  Not  the  most  fervid  pictures  of  a  poet's  fancy  could 
transcend  the  glories  then  revealed  in  the  depths  of  the  canyon;  inky  shadows,  pale 
gildings  of  lofty  spires,  golden  splendors  of  sun  beating  full  on  fa9ades  of  red  and  yellow, 
obscurations  of  distant  peaks  by  veils  of  transient  shower,  glimpses  of  white  towers  half 
drowned  in  purple  haze,  suffusions  of  rosy  light  blended  in  reflection  from  a  hundred 
tinted  walls.  Caught  up  to  exalted  emotional  heights  the  beholder  becomes  unmindful 
of  fatigue.     He  mounts  on  wings.     He  drives  the  chariot  of  the  sun. 

THE    LAST   GLIMPSE. 

Having  returned  to  the  plateau.  It  will  be  found  that  the  descent  into  the  canyon  has 
bestowed  a  sense  of  intimacy  that  almost  amounts  to  a  mental  grasp  of  the  scene.  The 
terrific  deeps  that  part  the  walls  of  hundreds  of  castles  and  turrets  of  mountainous  bulk 


THB  NORTH  WALL  FROM  GRAND  SCENIC  DIVIDE. 

l6 


Copyright  1899,  by  H.  O.  Peabody. 


THE  TITAN  OF  CHASMS. 


C.  A.  HIGGINS. 


may  be  approximately  located  in  barely  discernible  pen-strokes  of  detail,  and  will  be 
apprehended  mainly  through  the  memory  of  upward  looks  from  the  bottom,  while  towers 
and  obstructions  and  yawning  fissures  that  were  deemed  events  of  the  trail  will  be  wholly 
indistinguishable,  although  they  are  known  to  lie  somewhere  flat  beneath  the  eye.  The 
comparative  insignificance  of  what  are  termed  grand  sights  in  other  parts  of  the  world  is 
now  clearly  revealed.  Twenty  Yosemites  might  lie  unperceived  anywhere  below.  Niagara, 
that  Mecca  of  marvel  seekers,  would  not  here  possess  the  dignity  of  a  trout  stream.  Your 
companion,  standing  at  a  short  distance  on  the  verge,  is  an  insect  to  the  eye. 

Still,  such  particulars  cannot  long  hold  the  attention,  for  the  panorama  is  the  real 
overmastering  charm.  It  is  never  twice  the  same.  Although  you  think  you  have  spelt 
out  every  temple  and  peak  and  escarpment,  as  the  angle  of  sunlight  changes  there  begins 
a  ghostly  advance  of  colossal  forms  from  the  farther  side,  and  what  you  had  taken  to  be 
the  ultimate  wall  is  seen  to  be  made  up  of  still  other  isolated  sculptures,  revealed  now  for 
the  first  time  by  silhouetting  shadows.  The  scene  incessantly  changes,  flushing  and 
fading,  advancing  into  crystalline  clearness,  retiring  into  slumberous  haze. 

Should  it  chance  to  have  rained  heavily  in  the  night,  next  morning  the  canyon  is 
completely  filled  with  fog.  As  the  sun  mounts,  the  curtain  of  mist  suddenly  breaks  into 
cloud  fleeces,  and  while  you  gaze  these  fleeces  rise  and  dissipate,  leaving  the  canyon 
bare.  At  once  around  the  bases  of  the  lowest  clifi^s  white  pufi^s  begin  to  appear,  creating 
a  scene  of  unparalleled  beauty  as  their  dazzling  cumuli  swell  and  rise  and  their  number 
multiplies,  until  once  more  they  overflow  the  rim,  and  it  is  as  if  you  stood  on  some  land's 
end  looking  down  upon  a  formless  void.  Then  quickly  comes  the  complete  dissipation,  and 
again  the  marshaling  in  the  depths,  the  upward  advance,  the  total  suffusion  and  the  speedy 
vanishing,  repeated  over  and  over  until  the  warm  walls  have  expelled  their  saturation. 

Long  may  the  visitor  loiter  upon  the  verge,  powerless  to  shake  loose  from  the  charm, 
tirelessly  intent  upon  the  silent  transformations  until  the  sun  is  low  in  the  west.  Then 
the  canyon  sinks  into  mysterious  purple  shadow,  the  far  Shinumo  Altar  is  tipped  with  a 
golden  ray,  and  against  a  leaden  horizon  the  long  line  of  the  Echo  Cliffs  reflects  a  soft 
brilliance  of  indescribable  beauty,  a  light  that,  elsewhere,  surely  never  was  on  sea  or 
land.  Then  darknsss  falls,  and  should  there  be  a  moon,  the  scene  in  part  revives  in 
silver  light,  a  thousand  spectral  forms  projected  from  inscrutable  gloom;  dreams  of 
mountains,  as  in  their  sleep  they  brood  on  things  eternal. 


EARLY  MORNING  AT  GRAND  VIEW. 


17 


J.   W,   POWELL. 


rHE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. 

BY  J.    W.  POWELL. 

The  United  States  government  was  peculiarly  fortunate  in 
the  designation  of  the  man  who,  before  any  of  his  fellows,  was  to 
undertake  the  exploration  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona. 

Powell  was  the  pioneer  explorer.  He  combined  the  intrepid- 
ity of  the  soldier  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  scientist.  It  was  a 
journey  down  the  great  unknown.  His  daring  startled  his 
countrymen.  Best  of  all,  he  opened  to  the  world  of  science  new 
fields  for  research.  Later,  he  commanded  several  purely  geologic 
expeditions,  and  his  invaluable  contributions  have  become  classic. 
Both  by  reason  of  his  pioneer  passage  of  the  Colorado  and 
his  contributions  to  science,  Major  Powell's  name  is  indissolubly 
linked  with  that  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 

Major  Powell,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  was  the  Director  of 
the  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  Smithsonian  Institution,  Washington,  D.  C,  and 
the  following  article  was  especially  prepared  by  him  for  this  publication: 

THE    FIRST    EXPLORERS. 

■«  HE  Pueblo  of  Zuni  stands  alone.  The  early  Spanish  explorers  who  penetrated 
from  Mexico  northward  into  what  is  now  the  territory  of  the  United  States 
dignified  a  group  of  villages  in  the  region  of  Zuni  as  the  "Seven  Cities  of 
Cibola."  There  were  wonders  enough  in  the  new  world  to  kindle  the  imagi- 
nation into  a  blaze  that  illumined  everything  with  the  light  of  exaggeration,  and 
the  little  rude  stone  villages  of  the  savages  were  published  to  the  world  as  great  cities. 

Early  in  1540  an  expedition  set  forth  from  Compostela,  a  town  about  6°  west  of  what 
is  now  the  City  of  Mexico,  to  explore  the  regions  far  to  the  north  in  search  of  cities  and 
gold.  Alvar  Nuiiez,  a  priest,  had  wandered  for  years  on  the  most  romantic  journey  ever 
made  in  America.  He  went  from  Florida  northward,  then  westward,  and  ultimately 
southward  until  he  reached  Mexico.  In  the  main  he  traveled  in  the  capacity  of  a  priest- 
doctor,  and  his  advent  was  heralded  from  tribe  to  tribe,  for  his  presence  was  usually  made 
welcome  and  sometimes  eagerly  sought. 

Alvar  Nunez  told  the  Spaniards  in  Mexico  of  the  peoples  he  had  encountered  and  the 
cities  he  had  seen,  and,  though  his  account  was  not  exaggerated,  yet  the  fervid  imagination 
of  the  Spaniards  and  their  prodigious  greed  for  gold  soon  caused  them  to  organize  an 
expedition  to  this  country.  Coronado  was  its  leader,  a  commander  of  great  capacity,  who 
wandered  far  to  the  north  and  then  to  the  east  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Republican 
River  in  eastern  Kansas,  then  turning  westward  he  at  last  recrossed  what  is  now  called 
the  Rio  Grande  del  Norte  and  discovered  the  Seven  Cities  of  Cibola.  Of  these  cities 
only  Zuni  remains.  The  fact  that  it  is  one  of  those  cities  was  proved  by  Cushing. 
When  Alvar  Nunez  approached  Zuni  one  of  his  companions  was  killed;  this  was  Steven 
—a  Barbary  negro;  and  Cushing  found  these  Zuni  Indians  still  recounting  the  story  of 
the  death  of  Steven  as  one  of  the  most  important  episodes  in  their  history.  Through 
the  genius  of  Cushing  the  fame  of  Zuni  has  spread  throughout  the  world,  for  what  he 
committed  to  writing  future  generations  will  read  with  delight. 

In  the  villages  round  about,  the  Spaniards  were  told  of  a  mighty  river  and  giant  people 

18 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. J.  W.  POWELL. 

living  in  the  west.  Garcia  Lopez  was  instructed  by  Coronado  to  take  a  party  of  men 
v/ith  Indian  guides  to  verify  these  reports.  His  authority  for  exploration  was  extended 
to  eighty  days.  He  started  August  the  25th  and  within  the  term  of  his  authority  he 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado  River.  Thus  what  is  now 
popularly  known  as  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  was  discovered  by  Europeans. 

THE  IVES  AND  WHEELER  EXPEDITIONS. 

In  the  fall  of  1857  Lieut.  Ives,  of  the  engineer  corps  of  the  army,  ascended  the 
Colorado  River  on  a  trip  of  exploration  with  a  little  steamer  called  the  Explorer;  he 
went  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  Virgin.  Falling  back  down  river  a  few  miles, 
Lieut.  Ives  met  a  pack  train  which  had  followed  him  up  the  bank  of  the  stream.  Here 
he  disembarked,  and  on  the  24th  of  March  started  with  a  land  party  to  explore  the 
eastern  bank  of  the  river;  making  a  long  detour  he  ascended  the  plateau  through  which 
the  Grand  Canyon  is  cut,  and  in  an  adventurous  journey  he  obtained  views  of  the  canyon 
along  its  lower  course.  On  this  trip  J.  S.  Newberry  was  the  geologist,  and  to  him  we  are 
indebted  for  the  first  geological  explanation  of  the  canyon  and  the  description  of  the 
high  plateau  through  which  it  is  formed.  Dr.  Newberry  was  not  only  an  able  geologist, 
but  he  was  also  a  graphic  writer,  and  his  description  of  the  canyon  as  far  as  it  was  seen 
by  him  is  a  classic  in  geology. 

In  1869  Lieut.  Wheeler  was  sent  out  by  the  chief  engineer  of  the  army  to  explore 
the  Grand  Canyon  from  below.  In  the  spring  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the  mouth  of 
Diamond  Creek,  which  had  previously  been  seen  by  Dr.  Newberry  in  1858.  Mr.  Gilbert 
was  the  geologist  of  this  expedition,  and  his  studies  of  the  canyon  region  during  this  and 
subsequent  years  have  added  greatly  to  our  knowledge  of  this  land  of  wonders. 

MAJOR  POWELL'S  SEVERAL  TRIPS. 

In  this  same  year  I  essayed  to  explore  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado,  together 
with  the  upper  canyons  of  that  stream  and  the  great  canyons  of  the  lower  portion  of 
Green  River.  For  this  purpose  I  employed  four  rowboats  and  made  the  descent  from 
what  is  now  Green  River  station  through  the  whole  course  of  canyons  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Rio  Virgin,  a  distance  of  more  than  a  thousand  miles. 

In  the  spring  of  1870  I  again  started  with  three  boats  and  descended  the  river  to  the 
Crossing  of  the  Fathers,  where  I  met  a  pack  train  and  went  out  with  a  party  of  men  to, 
explore  ways  down  into  the  Grand  Canyon  from  the  north,  and  devoted  the  summer,  fall, 
winter  and  following  spring  to  this  undertaking. 

In  the  summer  of  187 1  I  returned  to  the  rowboats  and  descended  through  Marble 
Canyon  to  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona,  and  then  through  the  greater  part  of  the 
Grand  Canyon  itself.  Subsequent  years  were  then  given  to  exploration  of  the  country 
adjacent  to  the  Grand  Canyon.  On  these  trips  Mr.  Gilbert,  the  geologist  who  had  been 
with  Lieut.  Wheeler,  and  Capt.  C.  E.  Dutton,  were  my  geological  companions.  On  the 
second  boat  trip,  and  during  all  the  subsequent  years  of  exploration  in  this  region, 
Prof.  A.  H.  Thompson  was  my  geographical  companion,  assisted  by  a  number  of  topo- 
graphical engineers. 

In  1882  Mr.  C.  D.  Walcott,  as  my  assistant  in  the  United  States  Geological  Survey, 
went  with  me  into  the  depths  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  We  descended  from  the  summit 
of  the  Kaibab  Plateau  on  the  north  by  a  trail  which  we  built  down  a  side  canyon  in  a 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. 


J.  W.  POWELL. 


direction  toward  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Colorado  River.  The  descent  was  made  in  the 
fall,  and  a  small  party  of  men  was  left  with  Mr.  Walcott  in  this  region  of  stupendous 
depths  to  make  a  study  of  the  geology  of  an  important  region  of  labyrinthian  gorges. 
Here,  with  his  party,  he  was  shut  up  for  the  winter,  for  it  was  known  when  we  left  him 
that  snows  on  the  summit  of  the  plateau  would  prevent  his  return  to  the  upper  region 
before  the  sun  should  melt  them  the  next  spring.  Mr.  Walcott  is  now  the  Director  of 
the  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

After  this  year  I  made  no  substantial  additions  to  my  geologic  and  scenic  knowledge 
of  the  Grand  Canyon,  though  I  afterward  studied  the  archaeology  to  the  south  and  east 
throughout  a  wide  region  of  ruined  pueblos  and  cliff  dwellings. 

Since  my  first  trip  in  boats  many  others  have  essayed  to  follow  me,  and  year  by  year 
such  expeditions  have  met  with  disaster;  some  hardy  adventurers  are  buried  on  the 
banks  of  the  Green  and  the  graves  of  others  are  scattered  at  intervals  along  the  course 
of  the  Colorado. 

In  1889  the  brave  F.  M.  Brown  lost  his  life.  But  finally  a  party  of  railroad 
engineers,  led  by  R.  B.  Stanton,  started  at  the  head  of  Marble  Canyon  and  made  their 
way  down  the  river  as  they  extended  a  survey  for  a  railroad  along  its  course. 

Other  adventurous  travelers  have  visited  portions  of  the  Grand  Canyon  region, 
and  Mr.  G.  Wharton  James  has  extended  his  travels  widely  over  the  region  in  the 
interest  of  popular  science  and  the  new  literature  created  in  the  last  decades  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  And  now  I  once  more  return  to  a  reminiscent  account  of  the  Grand 
Canyon,  for  old  men  love  to  talk  of  the  past. 

THE   PLATEAU    REGION. 

The  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  and  the  Marble  Canyon  constitute  one  great  gorge 
carved  by  a  mighty  river  through  a  high  plateau. 


On  the  northeast  and  north  a  line  of 


A  TURN  OF  THE  TRAIL  AT  BRIGHT  ANGEL. 


Photo,  a.  L.  Roue. 


20 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. J.  W.  POWELL. 

cliffs  face  this  plateau  by  a  bold  escarpment  of  rock.  Climb  these  cliffs  and  you  must 
ascend  from  800  to  1,000  feet,  but  on  their  summit  you  will  stand  upon  a  plateau  stretch- 
ing away  to  the  north.  Now  turn  to  face  the  south  and  you  will  overlook  the  cliff  and 
what  appears  to  be  a  valley  below.  From  the  foot  of  the  cliff  the  country  rises  to  the 
south  to  a  great  plateau  through  which  the  Marble  and  the  Grand  canyons  are  carved. 
This  plateau  terminates  abruptly  on  the  west  by  the  Grand  Wash  Cliffs,  which  is  a 
high  escarpment  caused  by  a  "fault"  (as  the  geologist  calls  it),  that  is,  the  strata  of  sand- 
stone and  limestone  are  broken  off,  and  to  the  west  of  the  fracture  they  are  dropped  down 
several  thousand  feet,  so  that  standing  upon  the  edge  of  the  plateau  above  the  Grand 
Wash  Cliffs  you  may  look  off  to  the  west  over  a  vast  region  of  desert  from  which  low 
volcanic  mountains  rise  that  seem  like  purple  mounds  in  sand-clad  lands. 

On  the  east  the  great  plateau  breaks  down  in  a  very  irregular  way  into  the  valley  of 
the  Little  Colorado,  and  where  the  railroad  ascends  the  plateau  from  the  east  it  passes 
over  picturesque  canyons  that  run  down  into  the  Little  Colorado.  On  the  south  the 
plateau  is  merged  into  the  great  system  of  mountains  that  stand  in  southern  Arizona. 
Where  the  plateau  ends  and  the  mountains  begin  is  not  a  well-defined  line.  The  plateau 
through  which  the  Grand  Canyon  is  cut  is  a  region  of  great  scenic  interest.  Its  surface 
is  from  six  to  more  than  eight  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The  Grand 
Plateau  is  composed  of  many  subsidiary  plateaus,  each  one  having  its  own  peculiar  and 
interesting  feature. 

The  Kaibab  Plateau,  to  the  northeast  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  is  covered  with  a  pine 
forest  which  is  intercepted  by  a  few  meadows  with  here  and  there  a  pond  or  lakelet.  It 
is  the  home  of  deer  and  bear. 

To  the  west  is  the  Shinumo  Plateau  in  which  the  Shinumo  Canyon  is  carved;  and 
on  the  cliffs  of  this  canyon  and  in  the  narrow  valley  along  its  course  the  Shinumo  ruins 
are  found — the  relics  of  a  prehistoric  race. 

To  the  west  of  the  Shinumo  Plateau  is  the  Kanab  Plateau,  with  ruins  scattered  over 
it,  and  on  its  northern  border  the  beautiful  Mormon  town  of  Kanab  is  found,  and  the 
canyon  of  Kanab  Creek  separates  the  Shinumo  Plateau  from  the  Kanab  Plateau.  It 
begins  as  a  shallow  gorge  and  gradually  increases  in  depth  until  it  reaches  the  Colorado 
River  itself,  at  a  depth  of  more  than  4,000  feet  below  the  surface.  Vast  amphitheaters 
are  found  in  its  walls  and  titanic  pinnacles  rise  fram  its  depths.  One  Christmas  day  I 
waded  up  this  creek.  It  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  walks  of  my  life,  from  a  land 
of  flowers  to  a  land  of  snow. 

To  the  west  of  the  Kanab  Plateau  are  the  Uinkaret  Mountains — an  immense  group 
of  volcanic  cones  upon  a  plateau.  Some  of  these  cones  stand  very  near  the  brink  of 
the  Grand  Canyon  and  from  one  of  them  a  flood  of  basalt  was  poured  into  the  canyon 
itself  Not  long  ago  geologically,  but  rather  long  when  reckoned  in  years  of  human 
history,  this  flood  of  lava  rolled  down  the  canyon  for  more  than  fifty  miles^  filling  it  to 
the  depth  of  two  or  three  hundred  feet  and  diverting  the  course  of  the  river  against 
one  or  the  other  of  its  banks.  Many  of  the  cones  are  of  red  cinder,  while  sometimes  the 
lava  is  piled  up  into  huge  mountains  which  are  covered  with  forests.  To  the  west  of  the 
Uinkaret  Mountains  spreads  the  great  Shiwits  Plateau,  crowned  by  Mount  Dellenbough. 

Past  the  south  end  of  these  plateaus  runs  the  Colorado  River;  southward  through 
Marble  Canyon  and  in  the  Grand  Canyon,  then  northwestward  past  the  Kaibab  and 
Shinumo  Canyon,  then  southwestward  past  the  Kanab  Plateau,  Uinkaret  Mountains  to 

21 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. J.  IV.  POWELL. 

the  southernmost  point  of  the  Shiwits  Plateau  and  then  northwestward  to  the  Grand  Wash 
Cliffs.  Its  distance  in  this  course  is  little  more  than  300  miles — but  the  three  hundred 
miles  of  river  are  set  on  every  side  with  cliffs,  buttes,  towers,  pinnacles,  amphitheaters, 
caves  and  terraces,  exquisitely  storm-carved  and  painted  in  an  endless  variety  of  colors. 
The  plateau  to  the  south  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  which  we  need  not  describe  in  parts, 
is  largely  covered  with  a  gigantic  forest.  There  are  many  volcanic  mountains  and  many 
treeless  valleys.  In  the  high  forests  there  are  beautiful  glades  with  little  stretches  of 
meadow  which  are  spread  in  summer  with  a  parterre  of  flowers  of  many  colors.  This 
upper  region  is  the  garden  of  the  world.  When  I  was  first  there  bear,  deer,  antelope 
and  wild  turkeys  abounded,  but  now  they  are  becoming  scarce.  Widely  scattered 
throughout  the  plateau  are  small  canyons,  each  one  a  few  miles  in  length  and  a  few 
hundred  feet  in  depth.  Throughout  their  course  cliff-dweller  ruins  are  found.  In  the 
highland  glades  and  along  the  valley,  pueblo  ruins  are  widely  scattered,  but  the  strangest 
sights  of  all  the  things  due  to  prehistoric  man  are  the  cave  dwellings  that  are  dug  in 
the  tops  of  cinder  cones  and  the  villages  that  were  built  in  the  caves  of  volcanic  cliffs.  If 
now  I  have  succeeded  in  creating  a  picture  of  the  plateau  I  will  attempt  a  brief  descrip- 
tion of  the  canyon. 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  MORMON. 

Go  with  me  to  the  mouth  of  the  Paria  River,  at  the  head  of  Marble  Canyon;  for 
this  is  continuous  with  the  Grand  Canyon.  The  river  cuts  the  great  plateau  into  two 
unequal  parts,  the  larger  one  to  the  north.  A  little  glen  two  or  three  miles  above  the 
mouth  of  the  Paria  has  become  historic  ground,  for  it  was  for  several  years  the  resort  and 
hiding  place  of  a  man  who  is  famous  in  the  history  of  Utah,  whom  I  met  as  I  wandered 
up  this  canyon  valley  on  my  second  exploring  trip  to  the  region. 

When  a  mile  or  two  above  the  mouth  of  the  Paria,  in  making  a  turn  around  the 
cliff,  I  was  surprised  to  see  a  little  rude  stone  house,  and  as  I  approached  it  a  woman 
opened  the  door  and  hastily  reappeared  with  a  gun  in  her  hand.  She  was  quickly  followed 
by  a  man,  also  with  a  gu>n.  In  a  threatening  attitude  they  came  out  to  meet  me;  being 
unarmed  myself  I  spoke  to  them  by  bidding  them  good-day  and  making  some  pleasant 
remark,  but  not  until  I  had  heard  the  woman  say  to  the  man,  "Don't  shoot,  he's  all 
right."  I  entered  into  a  conversation  with  them  and  they  invited  me  to  eat  melons, 
which  I  did  with  gusto,  and  we  parted  with  expressions  of  good  will — for  they  seemed 
very  much  interested  in  my  explorations  and  came  down  to  the  river  to  see  me  off. 

In  subsequent  years  I  renewed  the  acquaintance  and  learned  their  history.  This  was 
John  D.  Lee  and  his  wife  Emma.  John  D.  Lee  is  well  known  as  a  man  who  was 
executed  for  the  part  he  took  in  the  Mountain  Meadow  Massacre.  I  need  not  say 
more  of  him  than  that  he  was  a  man  of  very  remarkable  character,  exceedingly  devout 
and  willing  to  die  for  the  Mormon  religion,  for  which,  from  the  standpoint  of  his  friends, 
he  fell  a  martyr. 

His  wife  was  a  convert  to  the  religion  of  the  Latter  Day  Saints  in  England,  or 
perhaps  in  Wales,  and  came  to  this  country  as  a  Mormon  immigrant.  She  was  a  member 
of  a  party  that  went  from  the  Missouri  River  to  Salt  Lake  with  handcarts.  She  was  an 
athlete,  and  as  she  expressed  it  to  me  at  one  time,  she  could  "whip  her  weight  in  wild- 
cats"—  a  figure  of  speech  which  she  got  from  the  Mormon  pioneers.  She  speedily 
developed  great  skill  in  the  use  of  the  rifle,  and  on  the  march  she  was  detailed  with  the 

23 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. 


J.  W.  POWELL, 


hunters  to  kill  game,  such  as  buffalo,  antelope,  deer,  sheep  and  the  many  game-birds 
found  on  the  plains,  and  her  success  as  a  hunter  relieved  her  of  the  toil  of  pushing  a  cart. 
On  reaching  Salt  Lake  City  she  became  one  of  the  wives  of  John  D.  Lee  and  went  with 
him  on  missionary  work  to  the  frontier  settlements,  where  she  lived  to  some  extent  among 
the  Indians.  Subsequently  she  fled  with  her  husband  into  the  depths  of  the  canyon 
region.  This  was  after  the  Mountain  Meadow  Massacre  was  investigated  by  the  general 
government,  and  the  pair  naturally  went  for  prudential  reasons.  After  his  surrender  she 
was  true  to  him  in  his  imprisonment,  and  wrote  him  letters  of  encouragement  and  received 
letters  from  him.  Some  time  after  his  death  she  married  a  ranchman  from  southern 
California  who  brought  a  herd  of  horses  into  the  valley  of  the  Paria.  With  him  she 
migrated  to  Arizona,  where  the  pair  kept  a  boarding  house  for  men  who  were  building  the 
Atlantic  &  Pacific  Railroad. 

Finally  they  settled  at  Holbrook  and  built  a  hotel.  When  I  was  there  last  she  was 
still  keeping  the  hotel,  but  the  majestic  woman  with  piercing  eyes  and  beautiful  form — 
the  herculean  Venus — was  now  older  and  somewhat  corpulent. 

MARBLE  CANYON. 

Above  the  Paria  the  great  river  runs  down  a  canyon  which  it  has  cut  through  one 
plateau.  On  its  way  it  flows  with  comparative  quiet  through  beautiful  scenery,  with 
glens  that  are  vast  amphitheaters  which  often  overhang  great  springs  and  ponds  of  water 
deeply  embosomed  in  the  cliffs.  From  the  southern  escarpment  of  this  plateau  the  great 
Colorado  Plateau  rises  by  a  comparatively  gentle  acclivity,  and   Marble  Canyon  starts 


A  BRIEF  REST,  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 


Photio,  a.  L.  Bom. 


24 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER.  , J.  W.  POWELL. 

with  walls  but  a  few  score  feet  in  height  until  they  reach  an  altitude  of  about  five  thousand 
feet.  On  the  way  the  channel  is  cut  into  beds  of  rock  of  lower  geologic  horizon,  or 
greater  geologic  age.  These  rocks  are  sandstones  and  limestones.  Some  beds  are  very 
hard,  others  are  soft  and  friable.  The  friable  rocks  wash  out  and  the  harder  rocks 
remain  projecting  from  the  walls,  so  that  every  wall  presents  a  set  of  stony  shelves. 
These  shelves  rise  along  the  wall  toward  the  south  as  new  shelves  set  in  from  below. 

In  addition  to  this  shelving  structure  the  walls  are  terraced  and  the  cliffs  of  the 
canyon  are  set  back  one  upon  the  other.  Then  these  canyon  walls  are  interrupted  by 
side  streams  which  themselves  have  carved  lateral  canyons,  some  small,  others  large,  but 
all  deep.  In  these  side  gorges  the  scenery  is  varied  and  picturesque;  deep  clefts  are  seen 
here  and  there  as  you  descend  the  river — clefts  furnished  with  little  streams  along  which 
mosses  and  other  plants  grow.  At  low  water  the  floor  of  the  great  canyon  is  more  or 
less  exposed,  and  where  it  flows  over  limestone  rocks  beautiful  marbles  are  seen  in  many 
colors;  saffron,  pink,  and  blue  prevail.  Sometimes  a  fa9ade  or  wall  appears  rising  ver- 
tically from  the  water  for  thousands  of  feet.  At  last  the  canyon  abruptly  ends  in  a 
confusion  of  hills  beyond  which  rise  towering  cliffs,  and  the  group  of  hills  are  nestled  in  the 
bottom  of  a  valley-like  region  which  is  surrounded  by  cliffs  more  than  a  mile  in  altitude. 

THE  GRAND  CANYON. 

From  here  on  for  many  miles  the  whole  character  of  the  canyon  changes.  First  a 
dike  appears;  this  is  a  wall  of  black  basalt;  crossing  the  river  it  is  of  lava  thrust  up 
from  below  through  a  huge  crevice  broken  in  the  rock  by  earthquake  agency.  On 
the  east  the  Little  Colorado  comes;  here  it  is  a  river  of  salt  water,  and  it  derives  its 
salt  a  few  miles  up  the  stream.  The  main  Colorado  flows  along  the  eastern  and  south- 
ern wall.  Climbing  this  for  a  few  hundred  feet  you  may  look  off  toward  the  northwest 
and  gaze  at  the  cliffs  of  the  Kaibab  Plateau. 

This  is  the  point  where  we  built  a  trail  down  a  side  canyon  where  Mr.  Walcott  was  to 
make  his  winter  residence  and  study  of  the  region;  it  is  very  complicated  and  exhibits  a 
vast  series  of  unconformable  rocks  of  high  antiquity.  These  lower  rocks  are  of  many 
colors;  in  large  part  they  are  shales.  The  region,  which  appears  to  be  composed  of 
bright-colored  hills  washed  naked  by  the  rain,  is  in  fact  beset  with  a  multitude  of  winding 
canyons  with  their  own  precipitous  walls.  It  is  a  region  of  many  canyons  in  the  depths 
of  the  Grand  Canyon  itself. 

In  this  beautiful  region  Mr.  Walcott,  reading  the  book  of  geology,  lived  in  a  sum- 
merland  during  all  of  a  long  winter  while  the  cliffs  above  were  covered  with  snow  which 
prevented  his  egress  to  the  world.  His  companions,  three  young  Mormons,  longing  for  a 
higher  degree  of  civilization,  gazed  wistfully  at  the  snow-clad  barriers  by  which  they  were 
enclosed.  One  was  a  draughtsman,  another  a  herder  of  his  stock  and  the  third  his  cook. 
They  afterward  told  me  that  it  was  a  long  winter  of  homesickness  and  that  months 
dragged  away  as  years,  but  Mr.  Walcott  himself  had  the  great  book  of  geology  to  read 
and  to  him  it  was  a  winter  of  delight. 

A  half  dozen  miles  below  the  basaltic  wall  the  river  enters  a  channel  carved  in  800 
or  a  thousand  feet  of  dark  gneiss  of  very  hard  rock.  Here  the  channel  is  narrow  and 
very  swift  and  beset  with  rapids  and  falls.  On  the  south  and  southwest  the  wall  rises 
abruptly  from  the  water  to  the  summit  of  the  plateau  for  about  6,000  feet,  but  across 
the  river  on  the  north  and  west  mountains  of  gneiss  and  quartzites  appear,  sometimes 

25 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. J.  W.  POWELL. 

rising  to  the  height  of  a  thousand  feet.  These  are  mountains  in  the  bottom  of  a  canyon. 
The  buttes  and  plateaus  of  the  inter-canyon  region  are  composed  of  shales,  sandstones 
and  limestones,  which  give  rise  to  vast  architectural  shelving  and  to  pinnacles  and 
towers  of  gigantic  proportions,  the  whole  embossed  with  a  marvelously  minute  system  of 
fretwork  carved  by  the  artistic  clouds.  Looking  beyond  these  mountains,  buttes  and 
plateaus — vistas  of  the  walls  of  the  great  plateau  are  seen.  From  these  walls  project 
salients  and  deep  re-entrant  angles  appear. 

The  whole  scene  is  forever  reminding  you  of  mighty  architectural  pinnacles  and 
towers  and  balustrades  and  arches  and  columns  with  lattice  work  and  delicate  carving. 
All  of  these  architectural  features  are  sublime  by  titanic  painting  in  varied  hues — pink, 
red,  brown,  lavender,  gray,  blue  and  black.  In  some  lights  the  saffron  prevails,  in  other 
lights  vermilion,  and  yet  in  other  lights  the  grays  and  blacks  predominate.  At  times, 
and  perhaps  in  rare  seasons,  clouds  and  cloudlets  form  in  the  canyon  below  and  wander 
among  the  side  canyons  and  float  higher  and  higher  until  they  are  dissolved  in  the  upper 
air,  or  perhaps  they  accumulate  to  hide  great  portions  of  the  landscape.  Then  through 
rifts  in  the  clouds  vistas  of  Wonderland  are  seen.  Such  is  that  portion  of  the  canyon 
around  the  great  south  bend  of  the  Colorado  River  past  the  point  of  the  Kaibab  Plateau. 

.AS  SEEN  BY  THE  GEOLOGIST. 

In  the  last  chapter  of  my  book  entitled  "The  Canyons  of  the  Colorado"  I  have 
described  the  Grand  Canyon  in  the  following  terms: 

The  Grand  Canyon  is  a  gorge  217  miles  in  length,  through  which  flows  a  great  river 
with  many  storm-born  tributaries.  It  has  a  winding  way,  as  rivers  are  wont  to  have. 
Its  banks  are  vast  structures  of  adamant,  piled  up  in  forms  rarely  seen  in  the  mountains. 

Down  by  the  river  the  walls  are  composed  of  black  gneiss,  slates  and  schists,  all 
greatly  implicated  and  traversed  by  dikes  of  granite.  Let  this  formation  be  called  the 
black  gneiss.      It  is  usually  about  800  feet  in  thickness. 

Then  over  the  black  gneiss  are  found  800  feet  of  quartzites,  usually  in  very  thin  beds 
of  many  colors,  but  exceedingly  hard,  and  ringing  under  the  hammer  like  phonolite. 
These  beds  are  dipping  and  unconformable  with  the  rocks  above.  While  they  make 
but  800  feet  of  the  wall  or  less  they  have  a  geologic  thickness  of  12,000  feet.  Set  up 
a  row  of  books  aslant;  it  is  ten  inches  from  the  shelf  to  the  top  of  the  line  of  books,  but 
there  may  be  three  feet  of  the  books  measured  directly  through  the  leaves.  So  these  quartz- 
ites are  aslant,  and  though  of  great  geologic  thickness  they  make  but  800  feet  of  the  wall. 
Your  books  may  have  many-colored  bindings  and  difi-er  greatly  in  their  contents;  so 
these  quartzites  vary  greatly  from  place  to  place  along  the  wall,  and  in  many  places  they 
entirely  disappear.      Let  us  call  this  formation  the  variegated  quartzite. 

Above  the  quartzites  there  are  500  feet  of  sandstones.  They  are  of  a  greenish  hue, 
but  are  mottled  with  spots  of  brown  and  black  by  iron  stains.  They  usually  stand  in  a 
bold  cliff\,  weathered  in  alcoves.      Let  this  formation  be  called  the  cliff  sandstone. 

Above  the  cliff  sandstone  there  are  700  feet  of  bedded  sandstones  and  limestones, 
which  are  massive  sometimes  and  sometimes  broken  into  thin  strata.  These  rocks  are 
often  weathered  in  deep  alcoves.      Let  this  formition  be  called  the  alcove  sandstone. 

Over  the  alcove  sandstone  there  are  1,600  feet  of  limestone,  in  many  places  a  beautiful 
marble,  as  in  Marble  Canyon.  As  it  appears  along  the  Grand  Canyon  it  is  always  stained 
a  brilliant  red,  for  immediately  over  it  there  are  thin  seams  of  iron,  and  the  storms  have 

26 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER, 


J.  W.  POWELL. 


painted  these  limestones  with  pigments  from  above.  Altogether  this  is  the  red-wall 
group.     It  is  chiefly  limestone.      Let  it  be  called  the  red-wall  limestone. 

Above  the  red  wall  there  are  800  feet  of  gray  and  bright  red  sandstone,  alternating 
in  beds  that  look  like  vast  ribbons  of  landscape.     Let  it  be  called  the  banded  sandstone. 

And  over  all,  at  the  top  of  the  wall,  is  the  Aubrey  limestone,  1,000  feet  in  thickness. 
This  Aubrey  has  much  gypsum  in  it,  great  beds  of  alabaster  that  are  pure  white  in 
comparison  with  the  great  body  of  limestone  below.  In  the  same  limestone  there  are 
enormous  beds  of  chert,  agates  and  cornelians.  This  limestone  is  especially  remarkable 
for  its  pinnacles  and  towers.      Let  it  be  called  the  tower  limestone. 

These  are  the  elements  with  which  the  walls  are  constructed,  from  black  buttress 
below  to  alabaster  tower  above.  All  of  these  elements  weather  in  different  forms  and  are 
painted  in  different  colors,  so  that  the  wall  presents  a  highly  complex  fa9ade.  A  wall  of 
homogeneous  granite,  like  that  in  the  Yosemite,  is  but  a  naked  wall,  whether  it  be  1,000 
or  5,000  feet  high.  Hundreds  and  thousands  of  feet  mean  nothing  to  the  eye  when 
they  stand  in  a  meaningless  front.  A  mountain  covered  by  pure  snow  10,000  feet  high 
has  but  little  more  effect  on  the  imagination  than  a  mountain  of  snow  1,000  feet  high — 
it  is  but  more  of  the  same  thing — but  a  fa9ade  of  seven  systems  of  rock  has  its  sublimity 
multiplied  sevenfold. 


Fhoto,  W,  U.  Simpson. 


AT  HOPI  (ROWE's)   point. 


27 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. J.  W.  POWELL. 

Consider  next  the  horizontal  elements  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  The  river  meanders 
in  great  curves,  which  are  themselves  broken  into  curves  of  smaller  magnitude.  The 
streams  that  head  far  back  in  the  plateau  on  either  side  come  down  in  gorges  and  break 
the  wall  into  sections.  Each  lateral  canyon  has  a  secondary  system  of  laterals,  and  the 
secondary  canyons  are  broken  by  tertiary  canyons;  so  the  crags  are  forever  branching, 
like  the  lim.bs  of  an  oak.  That  which  has  been  described  as  a  wall  is  such  only  in  its 
grand  effect.  In  detail  it  is  a  series  of  structures  separated  by  a  ramification  of  canyons, 
each  having  its  own  walls.  Thus,  in  passing  down  the  canyon  it  seems  to  be  inclosed  by 
walls,  but  oftener  by  salients — towering  structures  that  stand  between  canyons  that  run 
back  into  the  plateau.  Sometimes  gorges  of  the  second  or  third  order  have  met  before 
reaching  the  brink  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  and  then  great  salients  are  cut  off  from  the  wall 
and  stand  out  as  buttes — huge  pavilions  in  the  architecture  of  the  canyon.  The  scenic 
elements  thus  described  are  fused  and  combined  in  very  different  ways. 

ITS  LENGTH. 

We  measured  the  length  of  the  Grand  Canyon  by  the  length  of  the  river  running 
through  it,  but  the  running  extent  of  wall  cannot  be  measured  in  this  manner.  In  the 
black  gneiss,  which  is  at  the  bottom,  the  wall  may  stand  above  the  river  for  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  or  a  mile  or  two;  then  to  follow  the  foot  of  the  wall  you  must  pass  into  a 
lateral  canyon  for  a  long  distance,  perhaps  miles,  and  then  back  again  on  the  other  side 
of  the  lateral  canyon;  then  along  by  the  river  until  another  lateral  canyon  is  reached, 
which  must  be  headed  in  the  black  gneiss.  So  for  a  dozen  miles  of  river  through  the 
gneiss  there  may  be  a  hundred  miles  of  wall  on  either  side.  Climbing  to  the  summit  of 
the  black  gneiss  and  following  the  wall  in  the  variegated  quartzite,  it  is  found  to  be 
stretched  out  to  a  still  greater  length,  for  it  is  cut  with  more  lateral  gorges.  In  like 
manner  there  is  yet  greater  length  of  the  mottled  (or  alcove)  sandstone  wall,  and  the  red 
wall  is  still  farther  stretched  out  in  ever  branching  gorges. 

To  make  the  distance  for  ten  miles  along  the  river  by  walking  along  the  top  of  the 
red  wall  it  would  be  necessary  to  travel  several  hundred  miles.  The  length  of  the  wall 
reaches  its  maximum  in  the  banded  sandstone,  which  is  terraced  more  than  any  of  the 
other  formations.  The  tower  limestone  wall  is  less  tortuous.  To  start  at  the  head  of 
the  Grand  Canyon  on  one  of  the  terraces  of  the  banded  sandstone  and  follow  it  to 
the  foot  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  which  by  river  is  a  distance  of  217  miles,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  travel  many  thousand  miles  by  the  winding  way;  that  is,  the  banded  wall  is 
many  thousand  miles  in  length. 

AS  SEEN  BY  THE  ARTIST. 

The  traveler  in  the  region  of  mountains  sees  vast  masses  piled  up  in  gentle  declivities 
to  the  clouds.  To  see  mountains  in  this  way  is  to  appreciate  the  masses  of  which  they 
are  composed.  But  the  climber  among  the  glaciers  sees  the  elements  of  which  this  mass 
is  composed- -that  it  is  made  of  cliffs  and  towers  and  pinnacles,  with  intervening  gorges, 
and  the  smooth  billows  of  granite  seen  from  afar  are  transformed  into  cliffs  and  caves 
and  towers  and  minarets. 

These  two  aspects  of  mountain  scenery  have  been  seized  by  painters,  and  in  their  art 
two  classes  of  mountains  are  represented;  mountains  with  towering  forms  that  seem 
ready  to  topple  in  the  first  storm,  and  mountains  in  masses  that  seem  to  frown  defiance 

28 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. 


y.  W.  POWELL, 


at  the  tempests.  Both  classes  have  told  the  truth.  The  two  aspects  are  sometimes 
caught  by  our  painters  severally;  sometimes  they  are  combined.  Church  paints  a 
mountain  like  a  kingdom  of  glory.  Bierstadt  paints  a  mountain  cliff  where  an  eagle  is 
lost  from  sight  ere  he  reaches  the  summit.  Thomas  Moran  marries  these  great  character- 
istics, and  in  his  infinite  masses,  cliffs  of  immeasurable  height  are  seen. 

Thus  the  elements  of  the  fa9ade  of  the  Grand  Canyon  change  vertically  and  horizon- 
tally. The  details  of  structure  can  be  seen  only  at  close  view,  but  grand  effects  of 
structure  can  be  witnessed  in  great  panoramic  scenes.  Seen  in  detail,  gorges  and  preci- 
pices appear;  seen  at  a  distance,  in  comprehensive  views,  vast  massive  structures  are 
presented.  The  traveler  on  the  brink  looks  from  afar  and  is  overwhelmed  with  the  sub- 
limity of  massive  forms;  the  traveler  among  the  gorges  stands  in  the  presence  of  awful 
mysteries — profound,  solemn  and  gloomy. 

AS  SEEN  TRAVELING  DOWN  STREAM. 

For  eight  or  ten  miles  below  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Colorado,  the  river  is  in  the 
variegated  quartzites,  and  a  wonderful   fretwork   of  forms  and  colors,  peculiar   to   this 


Photo,  Putnam  tt  Valentine, 


CAMP  IN  COCONINO  FOREST,  NEAR   POIXT   SUBLIME. 
29 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. 


y.  W.  POWELL. 


rock,  stretches  back  for  miles  to  a  labyrinth  of  the  red-wall  cliff;  then  below,  the  black 
gneiss  is  entered  and  soon  has  reached  an  altitude  of  800  feet  and  sometimes  more  than 
1,000  feet,  and  upon  this  black  gneiss  all  the  other  structures  in  their  wonderful  colors 
are  lifted.  These  continue  for  about  seventy  miles,  when  the  black  gneiss  below  is  lost, 
for  the  walls  are  dropped  down  by  the  West  Kaibab  Fault  and  the  river  flows  in 
the  quartzites. 

Then  for  eighty  miles  the  mottled  (or  alcove)  sandstones  are  found  in  the  river  bed. 
The  course  of  the  canyon  is  a  little  south  of  west  and  is  comparatively  straight.  At  the 
top  of  the  red-wall  limestone  there  is  a  broad  terrace,  two  or  three  miles  in  width,  com- 
posed of  hills  of  wonderful  forms  carved  in  the  banded  beds,  and  back  of  this  is  seen  a 
cliff  in  the  tower  limestone.  Along  the  lower  course  of  this  stretch  the  whole  character 
of  the  canyon  is  changed  by  another  set  of  complicating  conditions.  We  have  now 
reached  a  region  of  volcanic  activity.  After  the  canyons  were  cut  nearly  to  their  present 
depth,  lavas  poured  out  and  volcanoes  were  built  on  the  walls  of  the  canyon,  but  not  in 
the  canyon  itself,  though  at  places  rivers  of  molten  rock  rolled  down  the  walls  into  the 
Colorado. 

The  canyon  for  the  next  eighty  miles  is  a  compound  of  that  found  where  the  river  is 
in  the  black  gneiss  and  that  found  where  the  dead  volcanoes  stand  on  the  brink  of 


THE  VIEW  EAST  FROM  HOPI  (rOWE's)  POINT. 


Fkoto,  V/.  H.  Simpson, 


30 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. J.  W.  POWELL, 

the  wall.  In  the  first  stretch,  where  the  gneiss  is  at  the  fiaundation,  we  have  a  great 
bend  to  the  south,  and  in  the  last  stretch,  where  the  gneiss  is  below  and  the  dead  volca- 
noes above,  another  great  southern  detour  is  found.  These  two  great  beds  are  separated 
by  eighty  miles  of  comparatively  straight  river. 

Let  us  call  this  first  great  bend  the  Kaibab  reach  of  the  canyon,  and  the  straight  part 
the  Kanab  reach,  for  the  Kanab  Creek  heads  far  off  in  the  plateau  to  the  north  and  joins 
the  Colorado  at  the  beginning  of  the  middle  stretch.  The  third  great  southern  bend  is 
the  Shiwits  stretch.  Thus  there  are  three  distinct  portions  of  the  Grand  Canyon :  The 
Kaibab  section,  characterized  more  by  its  buttes  and  salients;  the  Kanab  section,  charac- 
terized by  its  comparatively  straight  walls  with  volcanoes  on  the  brink,  and  the  Shiwits 
section,  which  is  broken  into  great  terraces  with  gneiss  at  the  bottom  and  volcanoes  at 
the  top. 

THE  WORK  OF  EROSION. 

The  erosion  represented  in  the  canyons,  although  vast,  is  but  a  small  part  of  the 
great  erosion  of  the  region,  for  between  the  cliffs  blocks  have  been  carried  away  far  supe- 
rior in  magnitude  to  those  necessary  to  fill  the  canyons.  Probably  there  is  no  portion  of 
the  whole  region  from  which  there  have  not  been  more  than  a  thousand  feet  degraded, 
and  there  are  districts  from  which  more  than  30,000  feet  of  rock  have  been  carried  away, 
altogether  there  is  a  district  of  country  more  than  200,000  square  miles  in  extent, 
from  which,  on  the  average,  more  than  6,000  feet  have  been  eroded.  Consider  a  rock 
200,000  square  miles  in  extent  and  a  mile  in  thickness,  against  which  the  clouds  have 
hurled  their  storms,  and  beat  it  into  sands,  and  the  rills  have  carried  the  sands  into  the 
creeks,  and  the  creeks  have  carried  them  into  the  rivers,  and  the  Colorado  has  carried 
them  into  the  sea. 

We  think  of  the  mountains  as  forming  clouds  about  their  brows,  but  the  clouds  have 
formed  the  mountains.  Great  continental  blocks  are  upheaved  from  beneath  the  sea  by 
internal  geologic  forces  that  fashion  the  earth.  Then  the  wandering  clouds,  the  tempest- 
bearing  clouds,  the  rainbow-decked  clouds,  with  mighty  power  and  with  wonderful  skill, 
carve  out  valleys  and  canyons  and  fashion  hills  and  cliffs  and  mountains.  The  clouds 
are  the  artists  sublime. 

WINTER  AND  CLOUD  EFFECTS. 

In  winter  some  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Grand  Canyon  are  emphasized.  I'he 
black  gneiss  below,  the  variegated  quartzite,  and  the  green  or  alcove  sandstone  form  the 
foundation  for  the  mighty  red  wall.  The  banded  sandstone  entablature  is  crowned  by 
the  tower  limestone.  In  winter  this  is  covered  with  snow.  Seen  from  below,  these 
changing  elements  seem  to  graduate  into  the  heavens,  and  no  plane  of  demarcation 
between  wall  and  blue  firmament  can  be  seen.  The  heavens  constitute  a  portion  of  the 
facade  and  mount  into  a  vast  dome  from  wall  to  wall,  spanning  the  Grand  Canyon  with 
empyrean  blue.     So  the  earth  and  the  heavens  are  blended  in  one  vast  structure. 

When  the  clouds  play  in  the  canyon,  as  they  often  do  in  the  rainy  season,  another  set 
of  effects  is  produced.  Clouds  creep  out  of  canyons  and  wind  into  other  canyons. 
The  heavens  seem  to  be  alive,  not  moving  as  move  the  heavens  over  a  plain,  in  one 
direction  with  the  wind,  but  following  the  multiplied  courses  of  these  gorges.  In  this 
manner  the  little  clouds  seem  to  be  individualized,  to  have  wills  and  souls  of  their  own 

31 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  EXPLORER. J.  W.  POWELL. 

and  to  be  going  on  diverse  errands — a  vast  assemblage  of  self-willed  clouds,  faring  here 
and  there,  intent  upon  purposes  hidden  in  their  own  breasts.  In  imagination  the  clouds 
belong  to  the  sky,  and  when  they  are  in  the  canyon  the  skies  come  down  into  the  gorges 
and  cling  to  the  cliffs  and  lift  them  up  to  immeasurable  heights,  for  the  sky  must  still  be 
far  away.     Thus  they  lend  infinity  to  the  walls. 

A  WORLD    OF    FORM,  COLOR   AND    MUSIC. 

The  wonders  of  the  Grand  Canyon  cannot  be  adequately  represented  in  symbols  of 
speech  nor  by  speech  itself.  The  resources  of  the  graphic  art  are  taxed  beyond  their 
powers  in  attempting  to  portray  its  features.  Language  and  illustration  combined  must 
fail.  The  elements  that  unite  to  make  the  Grand  Canyon  the  most  sublime  spectacle  in 
nature  are  multifarious  and  exceedingly  diverse. 

Besides  the  elements  of  form  there  are  elements  of  color,  for  here  the  colors  of  the 
heavens  are  rivaled  by  the  colors  of  the  rocks.    The  rainbow  is  not  more  replete  with  hues. 

But  form  and  color  do  not  exhaust  all  the  divine  qualities  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  It 
is  the  land  of  music.  The  river  thunders  in  perpetual  roar,  swelling  in  floods  of  music 
when  the  storm  gods  play  upon  the  rocks,  and  fading  away  in  soft  and  low  murmurs  when 
the  infinite  blue  of  heaven  is  unveiled.  With  the  melody  of  the  great  tide  rising  and 
falling,  swelling  and  vanishing  forever,  other  melodies  are  heard  in  the  gorges  of  the 
lateral  canyons,  while  the  waters  plunge  in  the  rapids  among  the  rocks  or  leap  in  great 
cataracts.  Thus  the  Grand  Canyon  is  a  land  of  song.  Mountains  of  music  swell  in  the 
rivers,  hills  of  music  billow  in  the  creeks  and  meadows  of  music  murmur  in  the  rills  that 
ripple  over  the  rocks.  Altogether  it  is  a  symphony  of  multitudinous  melodies.  All  this 
is  the  music  of  waters.  The  adamant  foundations  of  the  earth  have  been  wrought  into  a 
sublime  harp,  upon  which  the  clouds  of  the  heavens  play  with  mighty  tempests  or  with 
gentle  showers. 

ITS   VASTNESS. 

The  glories  and  the  beauties  of  form,  color  and  sound  unite  in  the  Grand  Canyon — 
forms  unrivaled  even  by  the  mountains,  colors  that  vie  with  sunsets,  and  sounds  that  span 
the  diapason  from  tempest  to  tinkling  raindrop,  from  cataract  to  bubbling  fountain. 

But  more — it  is  a  vast  district  of  country.  Were  it  a  valley  plain  it  would  make  a 
state.  It  can  be  seen  only  in  parts  from  hour  to  hour  and  from  day  to  day  and  from 
week  to  week  and  from  month  to  month.     A  year  scarcely  suffices  to  see  it  all. 

It  has  infinite  variety  and  no  part  is  ever  duplicated.  Its  colors,  though  many  and 
complex  at  any  instant,  change  with  the  ascending  and  declining  sun;  lights  and  shadows 
appear  and  vanish  with  the  passing  clouds  and  the  changing  seasons  mark  their  passage 
in  changing  colors. 

You  cannot  see  the  Grand  Canyon  in  one  view,  as  if  it  were  a  changeless  spectacle  from 
which  a  curtain  might  be  lifted,  but  to  see  it  you  have  to  toil  from  month  to  month 
through  its  labyrinths.  It  is  a  region  more  difficult  to  traverse  than  the  Alps  or  the 
Himalayas,  but  if  strength  and  courage  are  sufficient  for  the  task,  by  a  year's  toil  a  con- 
cept of  sublimity  can  be  obtained  never  again  to  be  equaled  on  the  hither  side  of  paradise. 


32 


THE  GREATEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD. 

BY  CHARLES  F.  LUMMIS. 

Mr.  Lummis  is  editor  of  the  Out  West  magazine  at  Los 
Angeles.  He  writes  books  that  are  read.  Volumes  like  "The 
Land  of  Poco  Tiempo"  and  "Strange  Corners  of  Our  Country" 
reveal  a  man  who  really  knows  our  immense  Southwest  from 
having  lived  its  strenuous  life,  and  who  can  therefore  adequately 
interpret  its  deserts  and  mountains,  its  people  and  their  customs. 
He  says  what  he  thinks,  and  thinks  his  own  thoughts  in  his 
own  way.  And  the  "way"  is  that  of  Anglo-Saxon  directness. 
We  listen,  even  if  we  dissent.  Usually  we  are  convinced,  but 
always  charmed. 

Soon  after  leaving  Harvard  he  walked  from  Chillicothe,  Ohio, 
to  Los  Angeles,  following  for  the  most  part,  the  Old  Santa  Fe 
CHARLES  F.  LUMMIS.  frail.     His    experiences    are    vividly    told    in    his    volume    "A 

Tramp  Across  the  Continent."  His  journeys  on  foot  have  embraced  Old  Mexico, 
South  America  and  every  interesting  corner,  known  and  unknown,  of  the  semi-arid  region. 
Every  Pueblo  Indian  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  is  his  friend.  He  has  lived 
among  them,  studied  them,  encouraged  them,  and  best  of  all,  has  been  to  them  an 
example  of  right  living  and  fair  treatment.  Lummis'  most  notable  characteristic  is  his 
intense  Americanism.  He  believes  in  America  for  Americans.  Knowing  this  great 
Southwest,  he  has  always  pleaded  to  have  the  tide  of  eager  tourists  turn  toward  it  as  an 
unmatched  wonderland. 

Mr.  Lummis'  account  of  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world  is  here  first  printed: 


THE    SOUTHWESTERN    WONDERLAND. 

HE  greatest  thing  in  the  world."  That  is  a  large  phrase  and  an  overworked 
one,  and  hardened  travelers  do  not  take  it  lightly  upon  the  tongue.  Noticeably 
it  is  most  glibly  in  use  with  those  but  lately,  and  for  the  first  time,  wandered 
beyond  their  native  state  or  county,  and  as  every  province  has  its  own  local 
brag  of  biggest  things,  the  too  credulous  tourist  will  find  a  superlative  every- 
where.    And  superlatives  are  unsafe  without  wide  horizons  of  comparison. 

Yet  in  every  sort  there  is,  of  course,  somewhere  "the  biggest  thing  in  the  world"  of 
its  kind.  It  is  a  good  word,  when  spoken  in  season  and  not  abused  in  careless  ignorance. 
I  believe  there  is  and  can  be  no  dispute  that  the  term  applies  literally  to  several 
things  in  the  immediate  region  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona.  As  I  have  more  than 
once  written  (and  it  never  yet  has  been  controverted),  probably  no  other  equal  area  on 
earth  contains  so  many  supreme  marvels  of  so  many  kinds — so  many  astounding  sights, 
so  many  masterpieces  of  Nature's  handiwork,  so  vast  and  conclusive  an  encyclopedia  of 
the  world-building  processes,  so  impressive  monuments  of  prehistoric  man,  so  many 
triumphs  of  man  still  in  the  tribal  relation — as  what  I  have  called  the  Southwestern 
Wonderland.  This  includes  a  large  part  of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  the  area  which 
geographically  and  ethnographically  we  may  count  as  the  Grand  Canyon  region.  Let 
me  mention  a  few  wonders: 

The  largest  and  by  far  the  most  beautiful  of  all  petrified  forests,  with  several  hundred 
square  miles  whose  surface  is  carpeted  with  agate  chips  and  dotted  with  agate  trunks  two 

•  33 


"/ 


^^- 

§ 

fistm 

■-'^^^, 


S^3^'" 


^^^ 


>?!?"H'  ♦ 


FROM   KAIBAB   PLATEAU,   LOOKING  SOUTH. 


Photo,  Putnam  it  Valentine. 


THE  GREATEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD. C.  F.  LUMMIS. 

to  four  feet  in  diameter;  and  just  across  one  valley  a  buried  "forest"  whose  huge  silici- 
fied — not  agatized — logs  show  their  ends  under  fifty  feet  of  sandstone. 

The  largest  natural  bridge  in  the  world — 200  feet  high,  over  500  feet  span  and  over 
600  feet  wide,  up  and  down  stream  and  with  an  orchard  on  its  top  and  miles  of  stalactite 
caves  under  its  abutments. 

The  largest  variety  and  display  of  geologically  recent  volcanic  action  in  North 
America;  with  sixty-mile  lava  flows,  1,500-foot  blankets  of  creamy  tufa  cut  by  scores  of 
canyons;  hundreds  of  craters  and  thousands  of  square  miles  of  lava  beds,  basalt  and 
cinders,  and  so  much  "volcanic  glass"  (obsidian)  that  it  was  the  chief  tool  of  the  pre- 
historic population. 

The  largest  and  the  most  impressive  villages  of  cave-dwellings  in  the  world,  most  of 
them  already  abandoned  "when  the  world-seeking  Genoese"  sailed. 

The  peerless  and  many-storied  cliff-dwellings — castles  and  forts  and  homes  in  the 
face  of  wild  precipices  or  upon  their  tops — an  aboriginal  architecture  as  remarkable  as 
any  in  any  land. 

The  twenty-six  strange  communal  town  republics  of  the  descendants  of  the  "cliff-- 
dwellers," the  modern  Pueblos;  some  in  fertile  valleys,  some  (like  Acoma  and  Moki) 
perched  on  barren  and  dizzy  cliffy  tops.  The  strange  dances,  rites,  dress  and  customs  of 
this  ancient  people  who  had  solved  the  problem  of  irrigation,  six-story  house  building 
and  clean  self-government  and  even  women's  rights — long  before  Columbus  was  born. 

The  noblest  Caucasian  ruins  in  America,  north  of  Mexico — the  great  stone  and  adobe 
churches  reared  by  Franciscan  missionaries,  near  three  centuries  ago,  a  thousand  miles 
from  the  ocean,  in  the  heart  of  the  Southwest. 

Some  of  the  most  notable  tribes  of  savage  nomads — like  the  Navajos,  whose  blankets 
and  silver  work  are  pre-eminent,  and  the  Apaches,  who,  man  for  man  have  been 
probably  the  most  successful  warriors  in  history. 

All  these,  and  a  great  deal  more,  make  the  Southwest  a  wonderland  without  a  parallel. 
There  are  ruins  as  striking  as  the  storied  ones  along  the  Rhine,  and  far  more  remarkable. 
There  are  peoples  as  picturesque  as  any  in  the  Orient,  and  as  romantic  as  the  Aztecs  and 
the  Incas  of  whom  we  have  learned  such  gilded  fables,  and  there  are  natural  wonders 
which  have  no  peers  whatever. 

OF   THE    CANYON,   AND    OTHER    WONDERS. 

At  the  head  of  the  list  stands  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado;  whether  it  is  the 
"greatest  wonder  of  the  world"  depends  a  little  on  our  definition  of  "wonder."  Possibly 
it  is  no  more  wonderful  than  the  fact  that  so  tiny  a  fraction  of  the  people  who  confess 
themselves  the  smartest  in  the  world  have  ever  seen  it.  As  a  people  we  dodder  abroad 
to  see  scenery  incomparably  inferior. 

But  beyond  peradventure  it  is  the  greatest  chasm  in  the  world,  and  the  most  superb. 
Enough  globe-trotters  have  seen  it  to  establish  that  fact.  Many  have  come  cynically 
prepared  to  be  disappointed;  to  find  it  overdrawn  and  really  not  so  stupendous  as 
something  else.  It  is,  after  all,  a  hard  test  that  so  be-bragged  a  wonder  must  endure 
under  the  critical  scrutiny  of  them  that  have  seen  the  earth  and  the  fullness  thereof. 
But  I  never  knew  the  most  self-satisfied  veteran  traveler  to  be  disappointed  in  the  Grand 
Canyon,  or  to  patronize  it.  On  the  contrary,  this  is  the  very  class  of  men  who 
can  best  comprehend  it,  and  I  have  seen  them  fairly  break  down  in  its  awful  presence. 

35 


THE  GREATEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD. C.  F.  LUMMIS. 

I  do  not  know  the  Himalayas  except  by  photograph  and  the  testimony  of  men  who 
have  explored  and  climbed  them,  and  who  found  the  Grand  Canyon  an  absolutely  new 
experience.  But  I  know  the  American  continents  pretty  well,  and  have  tramped  their 
mountains,  including  the  Andes — the  next  highest  mountains  in  the  world,  after  half  a 
dozen  of  the  Himalayas — and  of  all  the  famous  quebradas  of  the  Andes  there  is  not  one 
that  would  count  five  per  cent  on  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado.  For  all  their 
25,000-foot  peaks,  their  blue-white  glaciers,  imminent  above  the  bald  plateau,  and  green 
little  bolsones  ("pocket  valleys")  of  Chile,  Peru,  Bolivia  and  Ecuador;  for  all  their  tre- 
mendous active  volcanoes,  like  Saugay  and  Cotopaxi;  for  all  an  earthquake  activity 
beside  which  the  "shake"  at  Charleston,  was  mere  paper-doll  play;  for  all  the  steepest 
gradients  in  the  world  (and  Peru  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  where  a  river  falls  17,000 
feet  in  100  miles) — in  all  that  marvelous  3,000-mile  procession  of  giantism  there  is  not 
one  canyon  which  any  sane  person  would  for  an  instant  compare  with  that  titanic  gash 
that  the  Colorado  has  chiseled  through  a  comparatively  flat  upland.  Nor  is  there  any- 
thing remotely  approaching  it  in  all  the  New  World.  So  much  I  can  say  at  first  hand. 
As  for  the  Old  World,  the  explorer  who  shall  find  a  gorge  there  one-half  as  great  will 
win  undying  fame. 

The  quebrada  of  the  Apu-Rimac  is  a  marvel  of  the  Andes,  with  its  vertiginous 
depths  and  its  supension  bridge  of  wild  vines.  The  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Arkansas,  in 
Colorado,  is  a  noble  little  slit  in  the  mountains.  The  Franconia  and  White  Mountain 
notches  in  New  Hampshire  are  beautiful.  The  Yosemite  and  the  Yellowstone  canyons 
surpass  the  world,  each  in  its  way.  But  if  all  of  these  were  hung  up  on  the  opposite 
wall  of  the  Grand  Canyon  from  you  the  chances  are  fifty  to  one  that  you  could  not  tell 
t'other  from  which,  nor  any  of  them  from  the  hundreds  of  other  canyons  which  rib  that 
vast  vertebrate  gorge.  If  the  falls  of  Niagara  were  installed  in  the  Grand  Canyon  between 
your  visits  and  you  knew  it  by  the  newspapers — next  time  you  stood  on  that  dizzy  rim- 
rock  you  would  probably  need  good  field-glasses  and  much  patience  before  you  could  locate 
that  cataract  which  in  its  place  looks  pretty  big.  If  Mount  Washington  were  plucked 
up  bodily  by  the  roots — not  from  where  you  see  it,  but  from  sea-level — and  carefully 
set  down  in  the  Grand  Canyon,  you  probably  would  not  notice  it  next  morning,  unless 
its  dull  colors  distinguished  it  in  that  innumerable  congress  of  larger  and  painted  giants. 

All  this,  which  is  literally  true,  is  a  mere  trifle  of  what  might  be  said  in  trying  to  fix 
a  standard  of  comparison  for  the  Grand  Canyon.  But  I  fancy  there  is  no  standard 
adjustable  to  the  human  mind.  You  may  compare  all  you  will — eloquently  and  from 
wide  experience,  and  at  last  all  similes  fail.  The  Grand  Canyon  is  just  the  Grand  Canyon, 
and  that  is  all  you  can  say.  I  never  have  seen  anyone  who  was  prepared  for  it.  I  never 
have  seen  anyone  who  could  grasp  it  in  a  week's  hard  exploration;  nor  anyone,  except 
some  rare  Philistine,  who  could  even  think  he  had  grasped  it.  I  have  seen  people  rave 
over  it;  better  people  struck  dumb  with  it;  even  strong  men  who  cried  over  it;  but  I 
have  never  yet  seen  the  man  or  woman  that  expected  it. 

It  adds  seriously  to  the  scientific  wonder  and  the  universal  impressiveness  of  this 
unparalleled  chasm  that  it  is  not  in  some  stupendous  mountain  range,  but  in  a  vast,  arid, 
lofty  floor  of  nearly  100,000  square  miles — as  it  were,  a  crack  in  the  upper  story  of  the 
continent.  There  is  no  preparation  for  it.  Unless  you  had  been  told,  you  would  no 
more  dream  that  out  yonder  amid  the  pines  the  flat  earth  is  slashed  to  its  very  bowels, 
than  you  would  expect  to  find  an  iceberg  in  Broadway.     With  a  very  ordinary  running 

36 


THE  GREATEST  THING  IN  THE  WORLD. 


C.  F.  LUMMIS. 


jump  from  the  spot  where  you  get  your  first  ghmpse  of  the  canyon  vou  could  go  down 
2,000  feet  without  touching.      It  is  sudden  as  a  well. 

But  it  is  no  mere  cleft.  It  is  a  terrific  trough  6,000  to  7,000  feet  deep,  ten  to  twenty 
miles  wide,  hundreds  of  miles  long,  peopled  with  hundreds  of  peaks  taller  than  any 
mountain  east  of  the  Rockies,  yet  not  one  of  them  with  its  head  so  high  as  your  feet, 
and  all  ablaze  with  such  color  as  no  eastern  or  European  landscape  ever  knew,  even  in 
the  Alpen-glow,  And  as  you  sit  upon  the  brink  the  divine  scene-shifters  give  you  a 
new  canyon  every  hour.  With  each  degree  of  the  sun's  course  the  great  countersunk 
mountains  we  have  been  watching  fade  away,  and  new  ones,  as  terrific,  are  carven  by  the 
westering  shadows.  It  is  like  a  dissection  of  the  whole  cosmogony.  And  the  purple 
shadows,  the  dazzling  lights,  the  thunderstorms  and  snowstorms,  the  clouds  and  the 
rainbows  that  shift  and  drift  in  that  vast  subterranean  arena  below  your  feet!  And 
amid  those  enchanted  towers  and  castles  which  the  vastness  of  the  scale  leads  you  to  call 
"rocks,"  but  which  are  in  fact  as  big  above  the  river-bed  as  the  Rockies  from  Denver, 
and  bigger  than  Mount  Washington  from  Fabyan's  or  the  GlenJ 

IN    CONCLUSION. 

The  Grand  Canyon  country  is  not  only  the  hugest,  but  the  most  varied  and  instruc- 
tive example  on  earth  of  one  of  the  chief  factors  of  earth-building — erosion.  It  is  the 
mesa  country — the  Land  of  Tables.  Nowhere  else  on  the  footstool  is  there  such  an 
example  of  deep-gnawing  water  or  of  water  high-carving.  The  sandstone  mesas  of  the 
Southwest,  the  terracing  of  canyon  walls,  the  castellation,  battlementing  and  cliff-making, 
the  cutting  down  of  a  whole  landscape  except  its  precipitous  islands  of  flat-topped  rock, 
the  thin  lava  table-cloths  on  tables  100  feet  high — these  are  a  few  of  the  things  which 
make  the  Southwest  wonderful  alike  to  the  scientist  and  the  mere  sight-seer. 

That  the  canyon  is  not  "too  hard"  is  perhaps  sufficiently  indicated  by  the  fact  that  I 
have  taken  thither  ladies  and  children  and  men  in  their  seventies,  when  the  easiest  way 
to  get  there  was  by  a  seventy-mile  stage  ride,  and  that  at  six  years  old  my  little  girl 
walked  all  the  way  from  rim  to  bottom  of  canyon  and  came  back  on  a  horse  the  same 
day,  and  was  next  morning  ready  to  go  on  a  long  tramp  along  the  rim. 


r 


T5w~lir  'i:<i?^s^KW35i'W»'W»^*-Tii 


THE  END  OF  THE  TRAIL,  BRIGHT  ANGEL. 


37 


A  GASH  IN  NATURE'S  BARED  BREAST. 

BY  JOHN  L.  STODDARD. 

For  eighteen  years  Mr.  John  L.  Stoddard's  illustrated  lectures 
on  travel,  art  and  scenery  were  attended  by  large  audiences.  He 
fostered  a  love  for  our  native  land,  particularly  the  southwest 
corner  of  it,  and  was  the  chief  prophet  of  a  new  school  of  travel 
whereby  one  may  sit  in  a  cushioned  chair  and  see  the  world  and 
all  that  therein  is.  A  Stoddard  lecture  was  the  next  best  thing 
to  taking  the  trip  for  one's  self 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  man,  his  wide  learning,  his  keen 
observation,  his  infinite  painstaking  and  his  poetic  temperament, 
all  contributed  to  the  success  which  crowned  his  efforts. 

At  last  tiring  of  platform  work,  Mr.  Stoddard  arranged  with 
Balch  Bros.  Co.,  Boston,  to  publish   his   lectures.     From  one 
JOHN  L.  STODDARD.  of  thc  volumes  of  thc  series  the  following  extracts  concerning 

the  Grand  Canyon  are  made  by  kind  permission  of  the  publishers  and  the  author.  For 
the  last  few  years  Mr.  Stoddard  has  been  traveling  in  Europe.  His  visit  to  the  canyon 
was  made  in  1897,  accompanied  by  several  Santa  Fe  officials,  also  by  Mr.  W.  H.  Jackson, 
the  scenic  artist,  and  Mr.  Andrew  McNally,  the  publisher. 

ITS  SILENCE. 

HE  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  is  Nature  wounded  unto  death  and  lying  stiff 
and  ghastly,  with  a  gash  200  miles  in  length  and  a  mile  in  depth  in  her  bared 
breast,  from  which  is  flowing  fast  a  stream  of  life-blood  called  the  Colorado. 
Many  grand  objects  in  the  world  are  heralded  by  sound;  the  solemn  music  of 
Niagara,  the  roar  of  active  geysers  in  the  Yellowstone,  the  intermittent  thunder 
of  the  sea  upon  a  rocky  coast,  are  all  distinguishable  at  some  distance,  but  over  the  Grand 
Canyon  of  the  Colorado  broods  a  solemn  silence.  No  warning  voice  proclaims  its  close 
proximity;  no  partial  view  prepares  us  for  its  awful  presence.     '''     *     * 

The  globe  itself  seemed  to  have  suddenly  yawned  asunder,  leaving  me  trembling  on 
the  hither  brink  of  two  dissevered  hemispheres.  Vast  as  the  bed  of  a  vanished  ocean, 
deep  as  Mount  Washington,  riven  from  its  apex  to  its  base,  the  grandest  canyon  on  our 
planet  lay  glittering  below  me  in  the  sunlight  like  a  submerged  continent,  drowned  by 
an  ocean  that  had  ebbed  away.  At  my  very  feet,  so  near  that  I  could  have  leaped  at 
once  into  eternity,  the  earth  was  cleft  to  a  depth  of  6,600  feet — not  by  a  narrow  gorge 
like  other  canyons,  but  by  an  awful  gulf  within  whose  cavernous  immensity  the  forests 
of  the  Adirondacks  would  appear  like  jackstraws,  the  Hudson  Palisades  would  be 
an  insignificant  stratum,  Niagara  would  be  indiscernible,  and  cities  could  be  tossed 
like  pebbles. 


*     * 


SERMONS  IN  STONE. 

In  every  direction  I  beheld  below  me  a  tangled  skein  of  mountain  ranges,  thousands 
of  feet  in  height,  which  the  Grand  Canyon's  walls  enclosed  as  if  it  were  a  huge  sarcopha- 
gus holding  the  skeleton  of  an  infant  world.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  all  the  other 
canyons  of  our  globe  are,  in  comparison  with  this,  what  pygmies  are  to  a  giant,  and  that 

38 


A  GASH  IN  NATURES  BARED  BREAST.    JOHN  L.  STODDARD. 

the  name  Grand  Canyon,  which  is  often  used  to  designate  some  relatively  insignificant 
ravine,  should  be  in  truth  applied  only  to  the  stupendous  earth-gulf  of  Arizona.  '''  '^'  '^' 
Though  the  greater  part  of  the  population  of  the  world  could  be  assembled  here,  one 
sees  no  worshipers,  save  an  occasional  devotee  of  Nature,  standing  on  the  canyon's  rim, 
lost  in  astonishment  and  hushed  in  awe.  These  temples  were,  however,  never  intended 
for  a  human  priesthood.  A  man  beside  them  is  a  pygmy.  His  voice  here  would  be 
little  more  effective  than  the  chirping  of  an  insect.  The  God-appointed  celebrant,  in 
the  cathedrals  of  this  canyon,  must  be  Nature.  Her  voice  alone  can  rouse  the  echoes  of 
these  mountains  into  deafening  peals  of  thunder.  Her  metaphors  are  drawn  from  an 
experience  of  ages.  Her  prayers  are  silent,  rapturous  communings  with  the  Infinite. 
Her  hymns  of  praise  are  the  glad  songs  of  birds;  her  requiems^  are  the  meanings  of  the 
pines;  her  symphonies  the  solemn  roaring  of  the  winds.  "Sermons  in  stone"  abound  at 
every  turn;  and  if,  as  the  poet  has  affirmed,  "an  undevout  astronomer  is  mad,"  with 
still  more  truth  can  it  be  said  that  those  are  blind  who  in  this  wonderful  environment 
look  not  "through  Nature  up  to  Nature's  God."     *     *     * 

SEEN  IN  THE  MORNING. 

To  stand  upon  the  edge  of  this  stupendous  gorge  as  it  receives  its  earliest  greeting 
from  the  god  of  day,  is  to  enjoy  in  a  moment  compensation  for  long  years  of  ordinary 
uneventful  life.     When  I  beheld  the  scene,  a  little  before  daybreak,  a  lake  of  soft,  white 


Copyright,  1899,  by  H.  O.  Peabody. 


ACROSS  THE  CANYON  FROM  GRAND  VIEW. 


39 


A  GASH  IN  NATURES  BARED  BREAST.     JOHN  L.  STODDARD. 

clouds  was  floating  round  the  summits  of  the  canyon  mountains,  hiding  the  huge  crevasse 
beneath,  as  a  light  coverlet  of  snow  conceals  a  chasm  in  an  Alpine  glacier.  I  looked  with 
awe  upon  this  misty  curtain  of  the  morn,  for  it  appeared  to  me  symbolic  of  the  grander 
curtain  of  the  past  which  shuts  out  from  our  view  the  awful  struggles  of  the  elements 
enacted  here  when  the  grand  gulf  was  being  formed.  At  length,  however,  as  the  light 
increased,  this  thin,  diaphanous  covering  was  mysteriously  withdrawn  and  when  the  sun's 
disk  rose  above  the  horizon,  the  huge  facades  of  the  temples  which  looked  eastward 
grew  immediately  rosy  with  the  dawn;  westward,  projecting  cliffs  sketched  on  the  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  ravines,  in  dark  blue  silhouettes,  the  evanescent  forms  of  castles, 
battlements,  and  turrets  from  which  some  shreds  of  white  mist  waved  like  banners  of 
capitulation;  stupendous  moats  beneath  them  were  still  black  with  shadow;  while  clouds 
filled  many  of  the  minor  canyons,  like  vapors  rising  from  enormous  caldrons.  Gradually, 
as  the  solar  couriers  forced  a  passage  into  the  narrow  gullies  and  drove  the  remnant  of 
night's  army  from  its  hiding-places,  innumerable  shades  of  purple,  yellow,  red  and  brown 
appeared,  varying  according  to  the  composition  of  the  mountains,  and  the  enormous  void 
was  gradually  filled  to  the  brim  with  a  luminous  haze,  which  one  could  fancy  was  the 
smoke  of  incense  from  its  countless  altars.      '•'      "•'      '■' 

A  descent  into  the  canyon  is  essential  for  a  proper  estimate  of  its  details,  and  one  can 
W^ ^ »_,ig- -«..-— .-^ 


ON  GRAND  VIEW    POINT. 


Copyright,  1899,  by  II.  0.  Peabody. 


40 


A  GASH  IN  NATURES  BARED  BREAST.     JOHN  L.  STODDARD. 

never  realize  the  enormity  of  certain  cliffs  and  the  extent  of  certain  valleys  till  he  has 
crawled  like  a  maimed  insect  at  their  base  and  looked  thence  upward  to  the  narrowed  sky. 
Yet  such  an  investigation  of  the  canyon  is,  after  all,  merely  like  going  down  from  a 
balloon  into  a  great  city  to  examine  one  of  its  myriad  streets,  since  any  gorge  we  may 
select  for  our  descending  path  is  but  a  tiny  section  of  a  labyrinth.  That  which  is  unique 
and  incomparable  here  is  the  view  from  the  brink.      *      •''      '^ 

It  is  only  when  one  stands  beside  a  portion  of  this  lonely  river  and  sees  it  shooting 
stealthily  and  swiftly  from  a  rift  in  the  titanic  cliffs  and  disappearing  mysteriously 
between  dark  gates  of  granite,  that  he  realizes  what  a  heroic  exploit  the  first  navigation 
of  this  river  was;  for  nothing  had  been  known  of  its  imprisoned  course  through  this 
entanglement  of  chasms,  or  could  be  known,  save  by  exploring  it  in  boats,  so  difficult  of 
access  were,  and  are,  the  two  or  three  points  where  it  is  possible  for  a  human  being  to 
reach  its  perpendicular  banks.  Accordingly,  when  the  valiant  navigators  sailed  into  these 
mysterious  waters  they  knew  that  there  was  almost  every  chance  against  the  possibility 
of  a  boat's  living  in  such  a  seething  current,  which  is,  at  intervals,  punctured  with  a  multi- 
tude of  tusk-like  rocks,  tortured  into  rapids,  twisted  into  whirlpools  or  broken  by  falls; 
while  in  the  event  of  shipwreck  they  could  hope  for  little  save  naked  precipices  to  cling 
to  for  support.     All  honor,  then,  to  Powell  and  his  comrades.     *     *     * 

A  LAST  VIEW. 

On  my  last  evening  in  the  pine  tree  camp  I  left  my  tent  and  walked  alone  to  the  edge 
of  the  Grand  Canyon.  The  night  was  white  with  the  splendor  of  the  moon.  A  shim- 
mering lake  of  silvery  vapor  rolled  its  noiseless  tide  against  the  mountains  and  laved  the 
terraces  of  the  Hindu  shrines.  The  lunar  radiance,  falling  into  such  profundity,  was 
powerless  to  reveal  the  plexus  of  subordinate  canyons,  and  even  the  temples  glimmered 
through  the  upper  air  like  wraiths  of  the  huge  forms  which  they  reveal  by  day.  Advancing 
cautiously  to  an  isolated  point  upon  the  brink,  I  lay  upon  my  face  and  peered  down 
into  the  spectral  void.  No  voice  of  man,  nor  cry  of  bird,  nor  roar  of  beast  resounded 
through  those  awful  corridors  of  silence.  Even  thought  had  no  existence  in  that  sunken 
realm  of  chaos.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  the  sole  survivor  of  the  deluge.  Only  the  melan- 
choly murmur  of  the  wind  ascended  from  that  sepulchre  of  centuries.  It  seemed  the 
requiem  for  a  vanished  world.     *     *     * 


PLATEAU   OVERLOOKING   RIVER,   FOOT  OF  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 
41 


ROB  T  BREWSTER  STANTON. 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE   DEPTHS  OF  THE 

GRAND  CANTON 

BY  ROBERT  BREWSTER  STANTON. 

In  the  front  rank  of  Grand  Canyon  explorers  stands  Robert 
Brewster  Stanton.  Twenty  years  after  Powell's  exploration  of 
the  Colorado,  Stanton  the  engineer,  unheralded,  headed  a  party 
formed  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  survey  of  a  railway  from 
Grand  Junction  to  the  Gulf  of  Cahfornia.  Disaster  and  death 
followed  the  first  expedition. 

Undaunted,  Stanton  six  months  later,  fully  equipped,  renewed 
the  attempt.  Complete  success  rewarded  his  efforts.  After. a 
journey  lasting  four  and  one-half  months  he  reached  tide  water  in  the 
Gulf  of  California,  and  Stanton  is  the  only  explorer  who  has  made 
a  continuous  journey  down  the  entire  length  of  the  Colorado. 

His  contribution  to  progress  was  little  less  than  Powell's. 
His  mission  demanded  all  the  exacting  characteristics  which 
make  up  the  quality  of  the  pioneer.  He  combined  the  exact  knowledge  of  his  profession 
with  great  personal  bravery,  keen  observation  and  indomitable  energy. 

The  following  article,  fresh  from  his  pen,  vivid  and  eloquent,  shows  that  the  memo- 
ries of  thrilling  adventures  and  the  majesty  of  this  "Titan  of  Chasms"  are  still  with  him. 

THE  PIONEERS. 

HAVE  often  thought  if  the  traveler  on  our  great  transcontinental  railways  but 
knew  something  of  the  arduous  labors  of  those  who  prepared  for  him  the  luxury 
and  comfort  of  modern  travel,  he  might  think  with  kindly  feeling  of  the  pioneers 
— the  civil  engineers — who  made  it  possible  to  open  up  the  wonders  of  our 
great  western  empire  through  and  beyond  the  Rockies,  and  who,  in  so  many 
instances,  while  blazing  the  way,  laid  down  their  very  lives  that  he  might  travel  in 
veritable  palaces  to  an^  fro  through  the  land. 

It  has  been  my  fortune  to  do  some  part  of  this  pioneer  work  in  the  Far  West  during  the 
past  thirty-five  years,  beginning  with  the  survey  of  the  Atlantic  &  Pacific  Railway,  now 
a  part  of  the  Santa  Fe  system.  Few  travelers  on  the  luxurious  California  Limited,  as 
they  branch  off  to  take  a  look  at  the  wonders  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona, 
remember  that  some  twelve  years  ago  a  railway  was  projected  to  run  along  the  bottom 
of  that  deep  gorge,  and  few  know,  perhaps,  what  it  cost  in  hardships  and  in  lives  to 
make  the  reconnoissance  and  preliminary  survey. 

As  you  stand  on  the  brink  of  some  overhanging  cliff  at  the  canyon's  rim  and  look 
down  thousands  of  feet  into  its  depths,  let  me  repeat  some  of  the  experiences  of  our 
journey  along  that  "little  silver  thread"  as  it  looks  to  you  from  where  you  stand,  and  yet 
when  reached  is  a  wild,  raging,  roaring  torrent,  which  with  its  520  rapids,  falls  and  cataracts, 
is  a  pathway  terrible  to  contemplate  and  much  more  so  to  ride  upon  in  a  frail  boat. 

Previous  to  this  time,  May,  1889,  no  party  had  traversed  these  canyons  except  Major 
J.  W.  Powell  in  1869,  and  no  one  had  ever  made  a  continuous  journey  along  the  waters 
of  this  river  from  its  head  to  its  mouth. 

Our  first  expedition  was  organized  by  Mr.  Frank  M.  Brown,  the  president  of  the 
railway   company  when  I  took  charge  as  chief  engineer.     The  boats  were  bought  and 

43 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON.  R.  B.  STANTON. 

shipped  to  the  river.     These  boats  were  entirely  unfit  for  the  work  to  be  done,  and  at 
once  in  Cataract  Canyon  our  troubles  began. 

FIRST  EXPEDITION. 

We  had  lost  much  of  our  store  of  provisions  by  the  upsetting  of  our  boats  while 
running  the  rapids — boats  that  were  too  light  and  too  frail  to  stand  the  rough  usage  of 
such  waters.  It  was  necessary  to  go  on  short  rations.  On  June  15  another  accident 
had  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  the  river  all  of  our  provisions  except  a  sack  and  a  half  of 
flour,  a  little  coffee,  sugar  and  condensed  milk.  The  flour  was  immediately  baked  into 
bread  without  either  salt  or  yeast,  and  the  food  divided  equally  among  the  men.  The 
men  became  alarmed  and  nearly  all  wished  to  quit.  Feeling  sure  that  we  could  carry  on 
the  work  to  Dandy  Crossing  with  what  food  we  had,  I  determined  not  to  leave  without 
an  effort  to  complete  the  survey.  Four  of  my  men  volunteered  to  remain.  Six  days  we 
toiled  on  with  a  small  piece  of  bread,  a  little  coffee  and  milk  for  our  morning  and  evening 
meal,  and  three  lumps  of  sugar  and  as  much  river  water  as  we  wished  at  noon,  until  we 
met  one  of  our  boats  with  some  of  the  men  who  had  left,  bringing  us  provisions.  Our 
trip  through  Glen  Canyon  as  far  as  Lee's  Ferry  was  but  a  pleasant  summer  outing. 
Below  Lee's  Ferry,  Ariz.,  are  the  Marble  and  the  Grand  canyons — together,  and  in 
reality  one  canyon  nearly  300  miles  in  length. 

A  DISASTROUS  ENTERPRISE. 

On  the  morning  of  July  9  we  started  with  a  little  party  of  eight  and  three  boats, 
into  the  wondrous  depths  of  the  "Great  Unknown."  The  first  day's  run  was  made 
without  danger,  with  two  heavy  portages  around  the  rapids  at  Badger  and  Soap  creeks, 
and  we  camped  that  night  at  the  foot  of  Soap  Creek  rapid.  After  breakfast  we  were 
again  on  the  river  in  very  swift  water.  President  Brown's  boat  with  himself  and 
McDonald  was  ahead.  In  two  minutes  we  were  at  the  next  rapid.  Just  as  my  boat 
dashed  into  the  head  of  it  I  saw  McDonald  running  up  the  bank  waving  both  arms. 
We  had,  for  a  few  moments,  all  we  could  do  to  manage  our  own  boat.  It  was  but  a 
moment.  We  were  through  the  rapid,  and  turning  out  into  the  eddy  I  heard  McDonald 
shout,  "Mr.  Brown  is  in  there."  I  looked  to  the  right  but  saw  nothing.  My  boat 
turning  to  the  left  dashed  through  the  whirlpool  as  the  notebook,  which  Mr.  Brown 
always  carried,  shot  to  the  surface  of  the  water  and  we  picked  it  up  as  we  passed. 

Brown's  boat  was  but  a  half  minute  ahead  of  mine,  but  in  turning  out  into  the  eddy 
an  upshooting  wave  between  the  main  current  and  the  whirlpool  upset  it  without  a 
moment's  warning.  Brown  was  thrown  into  the  whirlpool,  while  McDonald  was  thrown 
into  the  current.  McDonald,  with  great  effort,  reached  the  left  bank  some  distance 
below,  but  Brown  in  that  awful  whirlpool  swimming  round  and  round,  unable  to  escape, 
battled  for  his  life  till  exhausted  in  the  fight  he  sank,  a  hero  and  a  martyr  to  what  some 
day  will  be  a  successful  cause. 

OBLIGED  TO  GIVE  UP. 

We  had  work  to  do  and  I  determined,  if  possible,  to  complete  the  whole  of  that 
work.  With  this  intention  we  started  out  next  morning  and  for  three  days  pushed  on, 
shooting  through  or  portaging  round  twenty-four  bad  rapids,  getting  deeper  and  deeper 
between  the  marble  walls. 

44 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  B.  STANTON 


After  a  quiet  rest  on  Sunday,  Monday  found  us  at  the  head  of  two  very  rough  and 
rocky  rapids.  We  portaged  both  of  them.  The  boats  had  then  to  go  through  the  lower 
end  of  the  second  rapid.  The  first  boat  got  down  with  difficulty,  as  the  current  beat 
hard  against  the  left  cliff.  My  boat  was  next  to  start.  I  pushed  it  out  from  shore 
myself  with  a  cheerful  word  to  the  men,  Hansbrough  and  Richards.  It  was  the  last  they 
ever  heard.  The  current  drove  them  against  the  cliff  under  an  overhanging  shelf  In 
trying  to  push  away  from  the  cliff  the  boat  was  upset.  Hansbrough  was  never  seen  to 
rise.  Richards,  a  powerful  man,  swam  some  distance  down  stream.  The  first  boat  started 
out  to  the  rescue,  but  he  sank  before  it  reached  him.  Two  more  faithful  and  good  men 
gone!  Astonished  and  crushed  by  their  loss,  our  force  too  small  to  portage  our  boats 
and  our  boats  entirely  unfit  for  such  work,  I  decided  to  abandon  the  trip,  with  then  and 
there  a  determination,  as  soon  as  new  outfit  could  be  secured,  to  return  and  complete  our 
journey  to  the  Gulf. 

THE  SECOND  EXPEDITION. 

Omitting  all  the  work  of  preparing  our  second  expedition,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  we 
returned  to  the  river  and  started  from  the  mouth  of  Crescent  Creek,  just  above  Dandy 
Crossing,  December  lo,  1889,  with  an  outfit  of  three  splendid  boats  and  twelve  men. 
I  had  provided  the  best  cork  life  preservers  for  all  the  men  and  they  were  required  to 


Photo,  W.  n:  Bass. 


A  STRETCH   OF  CALM  WATER,  THE  COLORADO  RIVER. 
45 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON.  R.  B.  STANTON. 

wear  them  whenever  they  were  upon  the  water.  As  it  proved,  these  Hfe  preservers  saved 
the  Hfe  of  my  assistant  engineer,  Mr.  John  Hislop,  and  my  own  hfe  as  well. 

We  passed  through  the  Glen  Canyon  a  second  time;  ate  our  Christmas  dinner  at 
Lee's  Ferry,  and  on  December  28  started  again  into  Marble  Canyon.  This  canyon 
seemed  destined  to  give  us  trouble.  On  January  i  our  photographer,  Mr.  Nims,  fell 
from  a  bench  of  the  cliff,  breaking  one  of  his  legs  and  receiving  a  severe  jar.  Space  will 
not  permit  of  telling  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  carrying  the  wounded  man  up  and  out 
a  side  canyon,  a  vertical  height  of  1,700  feet,  and  forty  miles  back  to  Lee's  Ferry,  from 
where  later  on  he  returned  to  Denver. 

With  much  toil  and  danger  to  life  and  limb  we  reached  the  end  of  Marble  Canyon,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Little  Colorado,  on  January  20  and  slept  that  night  in  the  Grand  Canyon. 

It  is  impossible  in  a  few  pages  to  do  justice,  in  the  smallest  degree,  to  the  great 
gorge  itself — "that  sublimest  thing  on  earth" — or  to  the  perils  and  adventures  of  our 
journey  through  it.     What  then  shall  we  write? 

WINTER  IN  THE  GRAND  CANYON. 

It  has  been  the  fortune  of  but  few  to  travel  along  the  bottom  of  the  great  chasm  for  a 
whole  winter,  while  around  you  bloojn  the  sweet  wild  flowers,  and  southern  birds  sing  on 
almost  every  bush — and  at  the  same  time  far  above,  among  the  upper  cliffs,  rage  and  roar 
like  demons  in  the  air  the  grandest  and  most  terrific  storms  of  wind  and  snow  and  sleet 
that  I  have  ever  witnessed,  even  above  the  clouds  among  the  summit  peaks  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains. 

To  be  imprisoned  between  the  great  towering  walls,  the  whole  upper  country 
covered  with  its  winter  mantle  of  inhospitable  snow,  which  hanging  down  hundreds  of 
feet  over  the  rim  and  in  the  side  gorges  gives  warning  that  the  only  way  to  escape  is 
over  the  hundreds  of  fearful  rapids,  falls  and  cataracts  below,  and  through  the  only  open 
gate  at  the  extreme  western  end;  to  dash  into  and  over  the  huge  waves  at  the  head  of 
more  than  a  hundred  rapids  with  no  knowledge  that  we  would  come  out  alive  at  the 
lower  end;  to  toil,  to  rest,  to  eat,  to  sleep  for  weeks,  and  for  months  beside  the  everlasting 
roar  of  that  raging  torrent, — was  an  experience  that  even  now  brings  up  memories, 
feelings  and  impressions  that  would  require  volumes  to  relate. 

SHOOTING  THE  RAPIDS. 

On  our  second  expedition,  with  our  new  boats,  we  ran  nearly  all  of  the  rapids  and 
portaged  but  few;  over  many  of  them  our  boats  dashed  and  jumped  at  the  rate  of  fifteen 
to  thirty  miles  per  hour.  To  stand  in  the  bow  of  one  of  these  boats  as  she  dashes 
through  a  great  rapid  with  first  the  bow  and  then  the  stern  jumping  into  the  air  is  an 
excitement  the  fascination  of  which  can  only  be  understood  through  experience. 

Starting  into  the  head  of  one  rapid  the  speed  given  to  the  boat  by  the  oarsmen  to  gain 
steerageway  carried  us  over  the  first  and  second  smooth  waves  so  fast  that  as  the  boat 
rose  to  the  top  of  the  last  it  had  not  time  to  turn  down,  but  went  on,  up  and  up,  and 
shot  clean  out  into  the  air,  jumping  over  to  and  dropping  with  a  tremendous  crash  upon 
the  third  wave.  Again,  while  going  over  another  fall  our  boat,  after  passing  the  crest  of 
the  second  wave  and  turning  down,  did  not  rise  upon  the  third  wave  at  all  but  dove 
clearly  under  it,  filling  completely  with  water,  but  thanks  to  its  ten  air-tight  compartments 
it  in  an  instant  rose  to  the  surface  and  went  safely  through  the  whole  rapid. 

46 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON 


R.  B.  STANTON 


A  TRIBUTE  TO  HISLOP. 

Besides  the  rocks,  the  great  dangers  in  running  these  rapids  are  the  immense  whirl- 
pools and  eddies  on  their  sides.  To  miss  the  channel  in  the  least  and  turn  the  bow  of 
the  boat  into  one  or  either  of  these  means  such  a  sudden  checking  of  the  bow  that  the 
stern  is  whipped  round  like  a  shot.  It  was  the  bad  luck  of  my  assistant  engineer,  John 
Hislop,  to  be  thus  whipped  off  his  seat  while  steering  my  boat  and  be  dashed  some 
'fifteen  feet  away  and  dropped  among  the  largest  waves.  His  cork  jacket  kept  him  afloat, 
and  overtaking  him,  he  climbed  into  the  boat  again  before  we  reached  the  end  of  the  rapid. 
And  just  here  let  me  pay  a  tribute  of  respect  to  that  noble  man.  A  true  friend,  a  noble 
gentleman,  a  gallant  knight.     God  bless  his  memory,  for  I  loved  him! 

It  seems  the  irony  of  fete  that  John  Hislop,  having  passed  through  the  perils  and 
hardships  of  all  these  great  canyons,  having  braved  the  rigors  of  three  almost  Arctic 
winters  in  the  Klondyke,  and  as  first  assistant  chief  engineer  having  to  his  credit  the 
building  of  the  White  Pass  &  Yukon  Railroad,  should  be  crushed  to  death  beneath  the 
wheels  of  a  suburban  train  in  the  city  of  Chicago  while  on  his  bridal  trip. 

AN  EXCITING  RIDE. 

Just  below  Kanab  Wash,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  we  enjoyed  what 
proved  to  be  the  wildest  ride  we  had  upon  the  river — the  canyon  so  narrow,  the  turns 
quick  and  sharp,  the  current  rushing,  first  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  forming  whirl- 
pools, eddies,  and  chutes  (for  the  river  by  a  sudden  flood  had  risen  some  twelve  feet). 


Vupyright,  JMU,  by  II.  O.  Peabody. 


ONE  VIEW  FROM   HOPI   (rOWE's)    POINT. 


47 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON 


R.  B.  STANTON 


Our  boats  caught  first  in  one  and  then  in  the  other;  now  spun  round  like  leaves  in  the 
wind,  then  shot  far  to  the  right  or  left  almost  against  the  wall;  now  caught  in  a  mighty 
roll,  and  first  carried  to  the  top  of  the  great  waves  and  then  dropped  into  the  trough  of 
the  sea  with  a  force  almost  sufficient  to  take  away  one's  breath.  Many  times  we  nar- 
rowly escaped  being  carried  over  the  rapids  before  we  could  examine  them,  making 
exciting  landings  by  pulling  close  to  shore,  with  bow  up  stream,  rowing  hard  to  partially 
check  our  speed,  while  one  man  jumped  with  a  line  to  a  ledge  of  rocks  and  held  on  for 
his  life,  and  ours,  too.  At  last  we  round  a  sharp  turn  and  see  a  roaring,  foaming  rapid 
below,  and  as  we  come  in  full  view  of  it  we  are  caught  in  the  mighty  roll  of  flood  waves. 
We  try  to  pull  out  to  an  eddy — it  is  all  in  vain;  we  cannot  cross  such  a  current.  We 
must  go  down  over  the  rapid  without  examining  it.  When  we  find  we  cannot  stop,  with 
great  effort  we  straighten  the  boats  round  and  enter  in  good  shape,  bow  on.  It  lasts  but 
a  moment;  the  cross  current  strikes  us  and  we  go  broadside  over  the  worst  part  of  the 
rapid.  Crouched  down  in  the  bottom,  it  is  as  much  as  we  can  do  to  keep  from  being 
tossed  out  as  the  boats  roll  from  wave  to  wave.  They  are  entirely  unmanageable,  and 
as  we  strike  the  whirlpools  below  we  are  spun  round  like  tops  some  fifty  times  or  more, 
till  finally,  at  the  end  of  the  rapid,  our  little  boats  float  into  an  eddy  as  quietly  and 
gracefully  as  swans. 

Some  days  later,  on  March  i,  1890,  we  reached  the  mouth  of  Diamond  Creek. 


BASS  FERRY,   FOOT  OF  BASS  TRAIL. 


Photo,  F.  H.  Maude. 


48 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON.  R.  B.  STANTON. 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  THE  GREAT  GORGE. 

Even  in  the  most  dangerous  parts  of  the  canyon,  between  the  most  powerful  rapids, 
are  stretches  of  perfectly  calm  water,  especially  at  the  low-water  season.  After  the 
exciting  dash  through  the  rapids  it  was  a  relief  to  our  nerves  to  rest  on  our  oars  and 
float  slowly  along.  It  was  then  that  we  had  the  time  to  study  those  awe-inspiring 
scenes  of  grandeur  and  beauty  that  can  be  seen  nowhere  else  upon  the  face  of  the  globe. 

After  passing  the  awful  grandeur  of  the  upper  granite  gorge  and  that  enchanting  spot, 
the  mouth  of  the  Bright  Angel  Creek,  the  canyon  grows  more  beautiful  and  picturesque. 
The  granite  has  lost  its  awful  and  threatening  look  and  slopes  back  in  beautiful  hillsides 
of  variegated  black,  gray  and  green. 

At  the  side  canyons  and  from  the  bends  of  the  river  the  upper  portions  of  the  whole 
gorge  are  brought  into  view,  showing  the  great  marble  and  sandstone  cliffs  benched  back 
far  away  from  the  river.  Mountains  jut  in  close  between  the  side  canyons  and  washes 
nearly  a  mile  and  a  quarter  in  height  and  by  a  delusion,  most  startling  in  its  effect,  seem 
to  be  hanging  over  our  very  heads.  As  we  peacefully  sail  along  the  smooth  stretches 
between  the  rapids  each  turn  brings  some  wonderful  picture  more  beautiful  than  the  last. 

Look  yonder  down  the  river  or  up  that  side  canyon  with  the  placid  waters,  between 
Its  polished  walls  of  black  for  a  foreground,  and  see  there  rise  above  the  dark  sandstone 
shelf  that  caps  the  granite  gorge  tier  upon  tier,  bench  upon  bench,  stepping  back  farther 
and  farther  and  higher  and  higher,  and  in  their  immensity  of  height  and  proportion 
seeming  to  tower  almost  over  our  heads. 

But  look  again!  Those  terrifying,  frowning  walls  are  moving,  are  changing !  A  new 
light  is  not  only  creeping  over  them,  but  is  coming  out  from  their  very  shadows.  See 
those  flattened  slopes  above  the  dark  sandstone  on  top  the  granite;  even  at  this  very 
moment  they  are  being  colored  in  gorgeous  stripes  of  horizontal  layers  of  yellow,  brown, 
white,  green  and  purple. 

What  means  this  wondrous  change?     Wherein  lies  this  secret  of  the  great  canyon? 

IT  IS  A  LIVING  SPIRIT. 

After  living  in  it  aiid  with  it  for  so  many  weeks  and  months  I  lost  all  thought  of  the 
great  chasm  as  being  only  a  huge  rock  mass,  carved  into  its  many  intricate  forms  by  ages 
of  erosion.  It  became  to  me,  what  it  has  ever  since  remained  and  what  it  really  is — a 
living,  moving,  sentient  being! 

The  Grand  Canyon  is  not  a  solitude.  It  is  a  living,  moving,  pulsating  being,  ever 
changing  in  form  and  color,  pinnacles  and  towers  springing  into  being  out  of  unseen 
depths.  From  dark  shades  of  brown  and  black,  scarlet  flames  suddenly  flash  out  and 
then  die  away  into  stretches  of  orange  and  purple.  How  can  such  a  shifting,  animated 
glory  be  called  "a  thing?"  It  is  a  being,  and  among  its  upper  battlements,  its  temples, 
its  amphitheaters,  its  cathedral  spires,  its  arches  and  its  domes,  and  in  the  deeper  recesses 
of  its  inner  gorge  its  spirit,  its  soul,  the  very  spirit  of  the  living  God  himself  lives  and 
moves  and  has  its  being. 

Come  with  me  toward  eventide  and  sit  on  yon  graven  pinnacle,  look  across  the  chasm 
to  yonder  wall,  facing  to  the  southwest.  It  extends  for  miles  and  miles  in  one  unbroken, 
uncarved,  uncolored,  uninteresting  sheer  precipice,  dividing  the  glory  and  beauty  of  the 
middle  gorge  from  the  unseen  mysteries  of  the  plateaus  above. 

But  stop!    Wnat  is  that  dark  object  moving  along  the  face  of  the  wall?    And  beyond 

49 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON.  R.B.  STANTON. 

another,  another,  and  still  another  far  beyond.  What  is  that  scarlet  point  coming  out 
through  the  hazy  sheen  and  touched  by  one  ray  of  the  setting  sun?  Wait  but  a  moment 
and  the  whole  glory  of  the  creation  will  be  revealed  to  you. 

Look  now  !  Where  is  that  long  sheer  forbidding  wall  ?  The  dark  shadows  have 
pushed  back  through  its  face  and  opened  up  great  caverns  and  side  gorges  a  mile  in  width 
and  half  as  deep.  And  what  remains  of  the  wall  itself  is  carved  in  most  intricate  and 
wondrous  forms  of  arches,  alcoves,  buttresses  and  towers.  And  before  it  where  but  an 
hour  ago  was  only  a  misty  haze  now  stand  temples,  domes,  monuments  and  spires, 
grander  and  more  sublime  than  ever  the  mind  of  man  could  conceive,  and  clothed  in 
most  gorgeous  tints  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  For  you  and  for  me  then  this  creation 
is  still  going  on,  as  it  has  been  in  reality  for  ages  in  the  past. 

BELOW  DIAMOND  CREEK. 

Our  expedition  left  Diamond  Creek  March  12  and  completed  the  remaining  fifty- 
three  miles   of  the  canyon  on   March   17. 

In  this  last  section  are  some  of  the  worst  and  most  powerful  rapids,  number  465  being 
perhaps  the  worst  on  the  whole  river.  It  is  composed  of  three  falls,  in  all,  a  drop  of 
thirty  feet.  The  current  turned  from  one  side  by  large  bowlders,  dashes,  after  passing 
over  the  first  fall,  against  the  left  cliff,  just  at  the  head  of  the  second  fall,  and  is  thrown 
back  with  awful  force,  and  as  it  meets  the  current  from  the  right  curls  in  angry  waves 
fifteen  to  twenty  feet  high,  first  from  one  side  and  then  from  another.  From  this  the 
whole  current  is  thrown  against  the  right  wall  as  it  curves  out  into  the  stream  just  at  the 
head  of  the  third  fall.     (This  is  the  rapid  at  which  Major  Powell's  three  men  left  him.) 

It  took  but  a  few  moments  of  examination  to  see  that  there  was  no  way  to  get  our 
boats  or  supplies  around  this  rapid.  It  must  be  run.  There  was  no  hesitation.  Every 
man  went  back  to  the  boats  and  jumped  in.     They  were  soon  ready  for  the  plunge. 

In  a  moment  we  were  at  the  head  of  the  first  fall  and  over  or  through  a  half  dozen 
huge  waves  and  approaching  the  second  fall.  As  I  looked  down  into  that  pit  of  fury  I 
wondered  if  it  were  possible  for  our  boats  to  go  through  it  and  come  out  whole.  I  had 
no  time  for  a  second  thought.  We  were  in  the  midst  of  the  breakers.  They  lashed  at 
first  one  side  and  then  the  other,  breaking  far  above  our  heads  and  half  filled  our  boat. 
For  a  second  we  were  blinded  by  the  dashing  muddy  water.  In  another  second  we  were 
through  and  out  and  right  side  up.  I  turned  to  see  if  the  men  were  safe.  They  were  all 
in  their  places;  but  our  boats,  though  right  side  up,  had  been  turned  quartering  with  the 
current,  and  we  were  being  carried  with  fearful  force  toward  the  right  cliff.  Every  instant 
I  expected  to  be  dashed  against  the  cliff  ahead,  where  the  whole  current  of  water  was  piled 
up  in  one  boiling  mass  against  the  solid  granite;  but  just  as  I  felt  the  last  moment  had 
come,  our  sturdy  Scotch  helmsman,  Hislop,  gave  the  boat  a  sudden  turn,  and  assisted  by 
the  rebounding  waves  we  went  by  the  cliff  and  I  shouted  to  the  men:  "That's  good! 
That's  good!  We  are  passed."  But  the  words  were  hardly  out  of  my  mouth  when  as 
we  rounded  the  point  of  the  third  fall  our  boat,  picked  up  bodily  by  a  powerful  side  wave, 
was  dashed  fully  ten  feet  to  the  right,  and  it  crashed  into  a  rock  which  projected  from  the 
shore,  and  stopped.  We  were  all  thrown  forward.  The  boat  filled  with  water,  sank  upon 
the  rock  and  stuck  fast.  Wave  after  wave  in  quick  succession  rolled  over  us.  I  tried 
to  straighten  myself  up,  when  a  great  wave  struck  me  in  the  back  and  I  was  driven  clean 
out  of  the  boat  into  the  whirlpool  below  the  rocks.     The  force  of  the  blow  knocked  me 

50 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON 


R.  B,  STANTON. 


insensible  for  a  moment.  But  as  I  was  drawn  down  the  water  closed  around  my  head 
and  my  consciousness  returned,  and  as  I  was  carried  by  that  whirlpool  down,  down,  down, 
I  wondered  if  I  should  ever  reach  the  bottom  of  the  river.  The  time  seemed  an  age. 
The  river  seemed  bottomless.  In  a  few  moments  I  was  caught  as  by  two  forces — one 
around  my  legs  and  another  around  my  back — and  twisting  in  opposite  directions,  they 
sent  me  whirling  away  and  I  was  shot  to  the  surface  some  fifty  feet  down  the  rapids  from 
where  1  went  in.  I  caught  my  breath  just  in  time  to  be  carried  under  the  next  great 
wave,  coming  out  again  in  a  lighter  wave  at  the  lower  end  of  the  rapids.  Thanks  to  my 
cork  jacket  I  floated  high  above  the  water,  but  was  carried  along  the  swiftest  part  of  the 
current  for  near  a  half  mile. 

The  next  boat  fared  better  than  ours.  She  soon  overtook  me  and  two  of  the  men 
pulled  me  into  the  second  boat  almost  as  mercilessly  as  I  was  dashed  from  the  first. 

Finally  we  reached  the  Gulf  of  California,  and  returning  overland  to  Yuma  the 
expedition  was  disbanded  April  30,  1890. 

Before  we  part  let  us  take  one  last  look  at  the  beauty  and  the  grandeur  we  may 
never  see  again. 

THE  DRAMA  OF  THE  DAWN. 

If  but  one  visit  can  be  made  to  the  Grand  Canyon,  there  is  only  one  position  and  one 
time  when  any  real  understanding  of  its  gorgeous  beauty  and  the  startling  changes  of  its 
spirit  life  can  be  acquired. 

The  time  is  from  an  hour  before  daylight  to  perhaps  two  or  three  hours  after  sunrise. 


Cupyriuht,  1899,  by  H.  Q.  Peabody. 


POINT   DE  LA  OLLA. 


5^ 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON.  R.  B.  STANTON. 

The  position  a  templed  butte  somewhere  about  4,000  feet  above  the  river.     Come  with 
me  then  to  such  a  spot. 

It  is  early  in  the  month  of  February.  For  months  we  had  been  at  the  bottom  of 
the  great  gorge,  with  the  towering,  flaming  walls  above,  and  although  among  flowers  and 
green  grass  in  the  valley,  had  looked  for  weeks  upon  the  huge  banks  of  drifted  snow 
that  fell  over  the  rim  rock.  We  had  determined  to  climb  the  great  north  wall — reach, 
if  possible,  the  level  of  the  snow  and  look  down  upon  the  chasm  from  above.  Toward 
evening  we  reached  a  point  4,000  feet  above  our  camp  on  the  river.  It  is  growing  late 
and  we  prepare  for  the  night — our  blankets  as  light  as  the  mountain  air  that  drifts  over 
the  snow  banks  above  us,  a  huge  pile  of  dry  cedar,  a  crackling  fire,  some  dry  biscuit  and 
toasted  bacon,  but  not  a  drop  of  water  for  thirty  hours. 

Long  before  the  morning  comes  our  sleep  is  ended.  I  sit  by  the  edge  of  the  marble 
precipice,  with  my  back  to  the  fire,  and  look  out  upon  the  darkness  of  the  night.  The 
whole  great  chasm  is  hushed  in  slumber,  except  for  a  half-hidden  tremor  and  a  sighing 
breath  that  passes  by  as  if  the  great  being  were  troubled  in  his  dreams.  The  mighty 
river,  shut  in  by  the  blackness  of  the  deep,  seems  resting  from  its  everlasting  toil. 

The  flash  from  our  fire  lights  up  in  ghastly  red  the  sandstone  wall  above  us,  while 
the  many  caverns,  hundreds  and  thousands  of  feet  below,  lie  like  huge  monsters  resting 
at  the  base  of  the  clifi\,  the  ugly  blackness  of  their  fantastic  forms  but  faintly  shown  by 
the  dim  light  of  the  morning  stars. 

Soon  far  out  in  the  east,  over  among  the  towers  and  cloistered  buttes  of 
Shiva's  Temple,  break  the  first  faint  rays  of  the  coming  day.  Slowly  the  whole  eastern 
sky  is  lit  up  with  a  strange  and  curious  light — not  the  gray  of  an  Atlantic  dawn,  but  a 
pale  blue  that  seems  to  mellow  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  as  they  flash  through  the 
gray  and  yellow  openings  between  the  upper  towers,  turrets  and  cathedral  spires  of  this 
land  of  wonder  and  amazement.  Yonder,  lower  down  through  that  side  gorge,  the  sun 
has  crept — crept  so  noiselessly,  yet  so  suddenly,  that  one  is  startled  at  the  wondrous 
change.  The  farther  side  of  the  canyon  is  all  aglow.  The  scarlet  sandstone  and  dark 
red  marbles  flash  back  the  rosy  light  which,  mingling  with  the  hazy  blue  of  the  atmos- 
phere, casts  over  the  whole  landscape  a  glamour  that  is  known  nowhere  else. 

Far  to  the  north  the  great  Kaibab  Plateau,  covered  with  pure  white  snow  and  fringed  on 
its  edge  with  the  bright  green  of  the  stately  pines,  is  sparkling  in  the  morning  sun  as  if 
covered  with  a  diadem  of  myriads  of  clearest  diamonds  and  decked  with  thousands  of 
perfect  emerald  plumes.  To  the  south  and  west  the  vision  is  bounded  by  the  same  high 
plateaus  that  lie  north  and  south  of  the  river.  The  whole  landscape  is  a  network  of 
caverns,  gorges  and  ravines,  and  between  them  are  towers,  temples  and  buttes  of  every 
form,  dimension  and  design. 

As  the  sun  rises  over  the  surrounding  platform  what  a  silent,  curious  change  creeps  over 
the  whole  scene!  The  clear  light  of  the  sun  streams  through  every  opening.  The  eastern  walls 
of  the  temple  buttes  burn  with  almost  living  flame,  and  to  the  west  are  cast  long  shadows 
so  dark  and  so  bold  that  it  seems  as  if  portions  of  the  night  itself  had  been  left  behind. 

The  whole  lower  canyon  is  still  in  solemn  repose,  but  as  the  sun's  light  forces  itself 
down,  the  dark  shadows  steal  away  to  hide  themselves.  At  last  the  inner  gorge  wakes 
from  its  night  of  slumber,  and  as  shadow  chases  shadow  and  the  bright  sunlight  leaps  first 
here  and  then  there,  now  around  a  buttressed  point,  then  into  an  alcove  deep,  the  whole 
scene  is  a  moving  panorama  of  light  and  shade  and  mingled  tints  of  celestial  beauty. 

52 


ENGINEERING  IN  THE  GRAND  CANTON 


R.  B,  STANTON. 


It  is  bewildering.  The  purplish  blue  of  the  atmosphere,  though  not  of  such  a  sleepy 
haze  as  in  the  summer  time,  gradually  turns  into  a  steely  gray  as  the  sun  rises  higher 
and  higher,  and  the  sharp  lines  of  the  cliffs  that  stood  out  so  boldly  at  first  are  blended 
in  one  indescribable  mass  of  weird  symmetry. 

Behold!  Across  the  canyon  to  the  southwest,  where  the  sun  now  shines  In  all  his  glory, 
noble  amphitheaters  are  opening  up  their  many  colored  galleries  to  view.  "Hundreds  of 
these  mighty  structures,  miles  in  length  and  thousands  of  feet  in  height,  rear  their  majestic 
forms  out  of  the  abyss,  displaying  their  richly  molded  plinths  and  friezes,  thrusting  out 
their  gables,  wing  walls,  buttresses  and  pilasters,  and  recessed  with  alcoves  and  panels." 
The  architecture  so  grand,  so  bold,  so  wild,  and  yet  grouped  together  with  such 
symmetry;  and  over  all  the  outer  and  inner  walls  hung  with  so  much  grace  those  parti- 
colored draperies,  in  such  varied  tints,  is  yet  in  such  blended  harmony  that  none  save 
He  who  first  made  and  painted  the  lily  and  the  rose  could  have  been  the  artist  or  the 
architect. 

A  morning  on  such  a  sculptured  butte  in  the  presence  of  such  awful  grandeur,  while 
slowly  and  noiselessly  the  darkness  of  night  is  changed  into  the  beauty  and  solemnity  of  a 
perfect  day,  is  like  standing  on  some  new  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  where  language 
fails  and  description  becomes  impossible. 


Copyright,  1899,  by  H.  G.  Peabody. 


BISSELL   POINT  AND  COLORADO  RIVER. 


S3 


ITS  INEFFABLE  BEAUTT. 

BY  HARRIET  MONROE. 

Miss  Monroe  is  a  resident  of  Chicago.  She  is  a  well-known 
poet,  essayist  and  journalist.  Her  writings  are  published  in  the 
leading  magazines  of  the  country  to  the  delight  of  many  lovers 
of  good  literature.  Of  compiled  works  the  most  notable  are 
"Valeria  and  Other  Poems,"  "The  Columbian  Ode"  and  "John 
Wellborn  Root — A  Memoir." 

Miss  Monroe  visited  the  Grand  Canyon  in  May,  1899.  It 
was  a  new  and  memorable  experience.  The  telling  of  it  reveals 
to  us  a  nature  singularly  responsive  to  the  varied  moods  of  this 
titan  of  chasms.  Her  description  is  a  rhapsody  of  the  poetic, 
physical  and  spiritual  attributes  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 

Miss  Monroe's  finest  interpretation  of  the  canyon  appeared 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  December,  1899.  When  asked  to 
contribute  an  article  for  this  book  she  sent,  through  the  courtesy  of  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&  Co.,  the  following  extracts  therefrom: 


HARRIET   MONROE 


OUT  IN  THE  OPEN. 

The  earth  grew  bold  with  longing 

And  called  the  high  gods  down; 
Yea,  though  ye  dwell  in  heaven  and  hell, 

I  challenge  their  renown. 
Abodes  as  fair  I  build  ye 

As  heaven's  rich  courts  of  pearl. 
And  chasms  dire  where  floods  like  fire 

Ravage  and  roar  and  whirl. 


Come,  for  my  soul  is  weary 

Of  time  and  death  and  change; 
Eternity  doth  summon  me — 

With  mightier  worlds  I  range. 
Come,  for  my  vision's  glory 

Awaits  your  songs  and  wings; 
Here  on  my  breast  I  bid  ye  rest 

From  starry  wanderings. 


I5F.  were  out  in  the  open  endless  desert,  the  sunburned  desolate  waste.  Our 
four  horses  kicked  up  the  dust  of  the  road  and  the  wind  whirled  it  into  our 
faces  and  sifted  it  through  our  clothes.     *     *     * 

All  the  morning  we  had  drifted  through  forests  of  tall  pines  and  bare 
white  aspens,  watching  the  changing  curves  of  San  Francisco  Peaks,  whose 
lofty  summits  rose  streaked  with  white  against  the  blue,  until  at  last  as  we  rounded 
its  foothills  the  desert  lay  below  us  like  a  sea,  and  we  descended  to  the  magic  shore  and 
took  passage  over  the  billows  of  silver  and  amethyst  that  foamed  and  waved  beyond  and 
afar.     '"     '''     * 

The  immense  and  endless  desolation  seemed  to  efface  us  from  the  earth.  What  right 
had  we  there  on  those  lofty  lands  which  never  since  the  beginning  of  time  had  offered 
sustenance  to  man?     *      ••'■      '' 

We  had  left  the  nineteenth  century  behind;  we  were  exploring  the  wilderness  with  the 
pioneers.  We  were  unaware  of  the  road,  of  the  goal;  we  were  pushing  out  into  the 
unknown,  buffeted  by  its  denials,  threatened  by  its  wars,  lured  by  its  mysteries.  The 
desert  lay  behind  us  now;  once  more  the  quiet  forest  for  miles  on  miles.  So  still  and 
sweet  and  sylvan  were  its  smooth  brown  slopes;  the  tallest  pines  whose  vision  overtopped 
their  neighbors  were  all  unsuspicious  of  nature's  appalling  and  magnificent  intention. 
And  we,  we  could  not  believe  that  the  forest  would  not  go  on  forever,  even  when  vistas 

54 


ITS  INEFFABLE  BEAUTT.     HARRIET  MONROE. 

of  purple  began  to  open  through  the  trees,  even  when  the  log-cabin  hotel  welcomed  us  to 
our  goal. 

It  was  like  sudden  death — our  passing  round  the  corner  to  the  other  side  of  that 
primitive  inn;  for  in  a  moment  we  stood  at  the  end  of  the  world,  at  the  brink  of  the  king- 
doms of  peace  and  pain.  The  gorgeous  purples  of  sunset  fell  into  darkness  and  rose  into 
light  over  mansions  colossal  beyond  the  needs  of  our  puny  unwinged  race.  Terrific 
abysses  yawned  and  darkened;  magical  heights  glowed  with  iridescent  fire.  The  earth 
lay  stricken  to  the  heart,  her  masks  and  draperies  torn  away,  confessing  her  eternal  pas- 
sion to  the  absolving  sun.  And  even  as  we  watched  and  hearkened,  the  pitiful  night  lent 
deep  shadows  to  cover  her  majesty  and  hide  its  awful  secrets  from  the  curious  stars. 

A  NEARER  VIEW. 

In  the  morning  when  I  went  out  to  verify  the  vision,  to  compass  earth's  revelation  of 
her  soul,  the  sun  fell  to  the  very  heart  of  the  mystery,  even  from  the  depths  rose  a  thrill 
of  joy.  It  was  morning;  I  had  slept  and  eaten;  the  fatigue  and  dust  of  the  long  journey 
no  longer  oppressed  me;  my  courage  rose  to  meet  the  greatness  of  the  world.  The 
benevolent  landlady  told  of  a  trail  which  led  to  Point  Lookout  a  mile  and  a  half  away, 
beneath  whose  cliffs  the  old  deserted  inn  lay  in  a  hollow.     *     *     * 

So  I  followed  along  the  quiet  sylvan  path,  which  led  up  and  down  little  ravines  and 
dales,  always  under  the  shade  of  tall  pines,  always  over  the  brown  carpet  of  their  needles. 
*  *  *  I  passed  the  little  silent  lodge,  with  rough-hewn  seats  under  the  broad  eaves  of 
its  porch,  its  doors  hospitably  unlatched,  its  rooms  still  rudely  furnished;  but  all  dusty, 
voiceless,  forsaken.  I  climbed  the  steep  slope  to  the  rocks,  crawled  half  prostrate  to  the 
barest  and  highest,  and  lay  there  on  the  edge  of  the  void,  the  only  living  thing  in  some 
unvisited  world. 

For  surely  it  was  not  our  world,  this  stupendous  adorable  vision.  Not  for  human 
needs  was  it  fashioned,  but  for  the  abode  of  gods.  It  made  a  coward  of  me;  I  shrank  and 
shut  my  eyes  and  felt  crushed  and  beaten  under  the  intolerable  burden  of  the  flesh.  For 
humanity  intruded  here;  in  these  warm  and  glowing  purple  spaces  disembodied  spirits 
must  range  and  soar.  Souls  purged  and  purified  and  infinitely  daring.  I  felt  keenly  sure 
of  mighty  presences  among  the  edifices  vast  in  scope  and  perfect  in  design  that  rose  from 
the  first  foundations  of  the  earth  to  the  lofty  level  of  my  jagged  rock.  Prophets  and  poets 
had  wandered  here  before  they  were  born  to  tell  their  mighty  tales — Isaiah  and  iEschylus 
and  Dante,  the  giants  who  dared  the  utmost.  Here  at  last  the  souls  of  great  architects 
must  find  their  dreams  fulfilled;  must  recognize  the  primal  inspiration  which,  after  long 
ages,  had  achieved  Assyrian  palaces,  the  temples  and  pyramids  of  Egypt,  the  fortresses 
and  towered  cathedrals  of  mediaeval  Europe.  For  the  inscrutable  Prince  of  builders  had 
reared  these  imperishable  monuments,  evenly  terraced  upward  from  the  remote  abyss,  had 
so  cunningly  planned  them  that  mortal  foot  could  never  climb  and  enter  to  disturb  the 
everlasting  hush.  Of  all  richest  elements  they  were  fashioned — jasper  and  chalcedony, 
topaz,  beryl  and  amethyst,  fire-hearted  opal  and  pearl ;  for  they  caught  and  held  the  most 
delicate  colors  of  a  dream  and  flashed  full  recognition  to  the  sun.  Never  on  earth  could 
such  glory  be  unveiled — not  on  level  spaces  of  sea,  not  on  the  cold  bare  peaks  of  moun- 
tains. This  was  not  earth;  for  was  not  heaven  itself  across  there,  rising  above  yonder 
alabaster  marge  in  opalescent  ranks  for  the  principalities  and  powers?  This  was  not 
earth — I   intruded  here.     Everywhere  the  proof  of  my  unfitness  abased  and  dazed  my 

.     55 


ITS  INEFFABLE  BEAUTT. HARRIET  MONROE. 

will:  this  vast  unviolated  silence,  as  void  of  life  and  death  as  some  new-born  world;  this 
mystery  of  omnipotence  revealed,  laid  bare,  but  incomprehensible  to  my  weak  imagining; 
this  inaccessible  remoteness  of  depths  and  heights,  from  the  sinuous  river  which  showed 
afar  one  or  two  tawny  crescents  curving  out  of  impenetrable  shadows,  to  the  mighty  tem- 
ple of  Vishnu  which  gilded  its  vast  tower  loftily  in  the  sun.  Not  for  me,  not  for  human 
souls,  not  for  any  form  of  earthly  life  was  the  secret  of  this  unveiling.  Who  that  breathed 
could  compass  it? 

THE  BIRD  SONG. 

The  strain  of  existence  became  too  tense  against  these  infinities  of  beauty  and  terror. 
My  narrow  ledge  of  rock  was  a  prison.  I  fought  against  the  desperate  temptation  to  fling 
myself  down  into  that  soft  abyss,  and  thus  redeem  the  affront  which  the  eager  beating  of  my 
heart  offered  to  its  inviolable  solitude.  Death  itself  would  not  be  too  rash  an  apology 
for  my  invasion — death  in  those  happy  spaces,  pillowed  on  purple  immensities  of  air.  So 
keen  was  the  impulse,  so  slight  at  that  moment  became  the  fleshly  tie,  that  I  might  almost 
have  yielded  but  for  a  sudden  word  in  my  ear — the  trill  of  an  oriole  from  the  pine  close 
above  me.  The  brave  little  song  was  a  message  personal  and  intimate,  a  miracle  of  sym- 
pathy or  prophecy.  And  I  cast  myself  on  that  tiny  speck  of  life  as  on  the  heart  of  a 
friend — a  friend  who  would  save  me  from  intolerable  loneliness,  from  utter  extinction  and 
despair.  He  seemed  to  welcome  me  to  the  infinite;  to  bid  me  go  forth  and  range  therein, 
and  know  the  lords  of  heaven  and  earth  who  there  had  drunk  the  deep  waters  and  taken 
the  measure  of  their  souls.  I  made  him  the  confidant  of  my  unworthiness;  asked  him 
for  the  secret,  since,  being  winged,  he  was  at  home  even  here.  He  gave  me  healing  and 
solace;  restored  me  to  the  gentle  amenities  of  our  little  world;  enabled  me  to  retreat 
through  the  woods  as  I  came,  instead  of  taking  the  swift  dramatic  road  to  liberty.     *     * 

LIKE  NOTHING  ELSE  IN  THE  WORLD. 

As  I  grew  familiar  with  the  vision  I  could  not  quite  explain  its  stupendous  quality. 
From  mountain  tops  one  looks  across  greater  distances  and  sees  range  after  range  lifting 
snowy  peaks  into  the'  blue.  The  ocean  reaches  out  into  boundless  space,  and  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  its  waters  have  the  beauty  of  rhythmic  motion  and  exquisitely  varied  color.  And 
in  the  rush  of  mighty  cataracts  are  power  and  splendor  and  majestic  peace.  Yet  for 
grandeur  appalling  and  unearthly;  for  ineffable,  impossible  beauty,  the  canyon  transcends 
all  these.  It  is  as  though  to  the  glory  of  nature  were  added  the  glory  of  art;  as  though, 
to  achieve  her  utmost,  the  proud  young  world  had  commanded  architecture  to  build  for 
her  and  color  to  grace  the  building.  The  irregular  masses  of  mountains,  cast  up  out  of 
the  molten  earth  in  some  primeval  war  of  elements,  bear  no  relation  to  these  prodigious 
symmetrical  edifices  mounted  on  abysmal  terraces  and  grouped  into  spacious  harmonies 
which  give  form  to  one's  dreams  of  heaven.  The  sweetness  of  green  does  not  last  for- 
ever, but  these  mightily  varied  purples  are  eternal.  All  that  grows  and  moves  must 
perish,  while  these  silent  immensities  endure.  Lovely  and  majestic  beyond  the  cunning 
of  human  thought,  the  mighty  monuments  rise  to  the  sun  as  lightly  as  clouds  that  pass. 
And  forever  glorious  and  forever  immutable,  they  must  rebuke  man's  pride  with  a  vision 
of  ultimate  beauty  and  fulfill  earth's  dream  of  rest  after  her  work  is  done. 


57 


A  NEW  WONDER  OF  THE  WORLD. 

BY  JOAQUIN  MILLER. 

In  the  Overland  Monthly,  March,  1901,  Joaquin  Miller 
writes  of  his  visit  to  the  canyon  of  canyons.  By  permission  of 
the  publishers  a  portion  of  that  article  is  reproduced  below.  It 
is  the  noted  poet's  latest  word  concerning  earth's  greatest  tragedy. 

Those  who  have  read  the  "Songs  of  the  Sierras"  or  have 
heard  Joaquin  Miller  tell  of  his  adventures  in  the  Rockies,  need 
not  be  reminded  of  his  undying  love  for  the  great  out-of-doors 
country  beyond  the  Missouri.  In  it  he  has  wandered  so  long 
that  it  is  a  part  of  his  very  life.  From  such  a  man  the  testi- 
mony that  this  is  the  "grandest  work  of  God,"  is  more  than  a 
chance  utterance;  it  is  the  deliberate  conviction  of  one  who  feels 
the  spirit  back  of  Nature,  and  who  having  seen  the  vision,  is 
impelled  to  put  it  in  words  of  fire. 


JOAQUIN   MILLER. 

THE  WORLD'S  PAINT  SHOP. 

T  is  old,  old,  this  Grand  Canyon,  and  yet  so  new  it  seems  almost  to  smell  of 
paint — red  paint,  pink,  scarlet.  Left  and  right,  up  and  down,  more  than  half 
a  mile  deep  in  the  earth,  every  shade  and  hue  of  red,  as  far  as  eye  can  compass. 
It  is  a  scene  of  death-like  silence,  a  dead  land  of  red,  a  burning  world.  We 
have  Arroyo  Grande  in  California,  the  Yosemite  Canyon  also.  Idaho,  Wash- 
ington, Montana,  New  Mexico,  Utah,  each  and  all  have  their  grand  canyon,  yet  there 
is  only  one  Grand  Canyon  on  the  globe,  Canon  Grande  de  Colorado,  the  burning  hues 
of  which  gave  name  to  a  great  river  and,  centuries  later,  to  a  great  state. 

It  is  written  that  the  Spanish  cavalier  and  explorer,  in  quest  of  the  seven  cities  of  gold, 
pushed  the  prow  of  his  boat  so  far  into  the  waters  of  this  fearful  chasm  of  colors  that  on 
looking  up  at  midday  he  could  see  the  stars;  and  it  is  written  that  overcome  with  reli- 
gious awe,  fearing  perhaps  that  he  was  daring  to  approach  the  gates  of  Paradise  before  his 
time,  he  raised  the  cross,  bared  his  head,  gave  this  color  world  its  name  and  drew  back 
and  away,  to  come  again  no  more.  But  still  the  tradition  was  that  at  least  one  of  the  cities 
of  gold  lay  within  and  under  the  protection  of  these  fearful  walls  of  flaming  red.    *    *    ''' 

A  SABRE  THRUST  IN  EARTH'S  BOSOM. 

This  canyon,  or  sabre  thrust  in  the  rich  red  bosom  of  Mother  Earth,  is  217  miles 
long  and  more  than  5,000  feet  deep.  It  is  very  tortuous  and  of  almost  uniform  splendor 
— glory,  terror,  as  you  please  to  term  it.  A  National  Reserve,  sixty  by  sixty  miles,  cov- 
ers the  major  part  of  its  magnificence. 

We  approached  the  precipitous  red  sides  from  the  south,  where  the  narrow  granite  gorge 
of  the  smaller  river  is  more  narrow,  yet  almost  as  deep,  and  is  comparatively  colorless,  as 
I  remember  it.  Yet  the  absence  of  sunlight  in  its  fearful  and  narrow  depths  may  have 
much  to  do  with  the  absence  of  color.  We  were  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  storm  raging 
at  sudden  intervals  at  our  feet,  in  the  greater  canyon,  fifteen  miles  wide,  perhaps,  and 
more  than  half  a  mile  deep.  The  interrupted  battles  of  the  elements  roared  far  below  us, 
and  all  the  time,  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  the  white  clouds  curled,  drifted,  drooped,  died, 
then  rose  again.     *     *     * 

58 


A  NEW  WONDER  OF  THE  WORLD. JOAQUIN  MILLER. 

The  thunder  at  intervals  was  fearfully  impressive.  We  felt  at  one  time  that  the 
temples,  towers  and  battlements  of  red  which  burst  here  and  there  above  the  thunder 
clouds  must  be  crumbled  to  dust,  so  terrible  was  the  tumult.  The  lightning  almost 
continually  wrote  the  autograph  of  God  on  and  through  the  clouds  at  our  feet.  But  when 
the  clouds  would  part  and  pass  for  a  time  and  stillness  and  sunlight  come  again,  all  would 
be  as  before. 

RAINBOW  EFFECTS. 

Here,  at  a  dozen  times  that  day  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  saw  a  rainbow  in 
a  circle,  a  complete  and  perfect  circle.  Years  later  I  saw  the  phenomenon  in  the  Hawai- 
ian Islands,  where  I  was  told  it  counted  nothing  so  very  strange.  On  inquiry  here  at 
the  red  lips  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  in  these  early  days  of  June,  I  find  that  the  circular 
rainbow  is  no  new  thing.  Indeed,  dozens  have  been  here  with  their  cameras  watching 
for  a  storm,  in  the  hope  of  photographing  this  halo  of  the  heavens.  The  nearest  I  have 
been  able  to  get  to  this  wonder  is  a  few  white  clouds  resting  lazily  in  the  red  world  below. 
Yet  it  is  not  all  red  here.  The  dim  ruin  of  the  remote  side  of  the  canyon  is  a  perpendic- 
ular wall  of  about  a  thousand  feet  of  cream-colored  limestone.  The  Walls  of  Jerusalem, 
Gates  of  Gaza,  Solomon's  Temple — pick  them  out  in  the  picture,  if  you  please  and  where 
you  please,  and  magnify  them  ten  thousand  times,  and  all  in  red.  The  tower  of  Solomon's 
Temple  at  sunset  is  red  with  the  redness  of  blood.     *     *     * 

THE  RIVER. 

Looking  down  more  than  half  a  mile  into  this  fifteen-by-two-hundred-and-eighteen- 
mile  paint  pot,  I  continually  ask:  Is  any  fifty  miles  of  Mother  Earth  that  I  have  known 
as  fearful,  or  any  part  as  fearful,  as  full  of  glory,  as  full  of  God?  And  one  constantly 
questions  how  did  it  happen  that  earth  opened  right  here  in  this  inaccessible  and  savage 
land  of  savages,  her  wide  red  lips  to  tell  of  the  marvels  forever  under  our  feet? 

I  think  it  came  about  in  this  way.  There  was  an  under  or  buried  river.  Take  the 
Limestone  River  in  the  Mammoth  Cave  as  a  feeble  illustration.  You  know  the  story  was 
for  centuries  that  the*  Colorado  River  flowed  in  part  underground.  We  never  knew  cer- 
tainly the  truth  or  fiction  of  the  Indian  story  that  the  river  entirely  disappeared  in 
places,  till  the  intrepid  Lieutenant  Powell,  the  first,  and  now  that  the  matter  is  cleared  up, 
let  us  hope  that  he  may  be  the  last  to  dare  descend  into  this  wonderful  river.  What 
divine  audacity!  The  wonder  is  not  that  he  lost  half  his  force,  but  that  he  saved  even 
himself  to  modestly  tell  the  story  ! 

The  tradition  of  an  underground  river  is  no  wonder  at  all,  even  though  there  never 
had  been  such  a  thing.  For,  standing  almost  where  you  will,  on  either  side  of  the  mighty 
miles  of  canyon,  you  will  find  places  where  the  river  as  entirely  and  suddenly  disappears, 
apparently,  as  if  it  were  a  train  of  cars  passing  into  a  tunnel.      *      *     * 

COLOR  IS  KING. 

The  one  most  startling  yet  most  pleasant  thing,  as  Grand  Canyon  bursts  upon  you, 
or  rather  as  you  burst  upon  it,  and  look  down,  is  the  sympathetic  symmetry,  let  me  say 
the  homogeniety,  of  it  all.  Putting  aside  the  soft,  flesh-and-blood  color,  you  cannot  help 
a  sudden  and  glowing  heart-beat  at  the  human  fashioning  of  it  all.  Here  is  a  photograph 
from  what  may  be  called  Panorama  Point.     Here,  there,  almost  everywhere,  you  see  the 

59 


A  NEW  WONDER  OF  THE  WORLD. 


JOAQUIN  MILLER. 


symmetry,  the  form,  the  fashioning,  as  perfect  as  a  growing  flower;  and  it  takes  no  imagi- 
nation at  all  to  see  the  hand  of  man,  the  mind  of  man,  here  in  this  grandest  work  of 
God  that  I  have  yet  seen  under  the  path  of  the  sun.  And  this  is  to  say  nothing  of  the 
color,  which  is  almost  as  perfect  as  the  color  of  the  most  highly  and  perfectly  colored 
flower  ever  considered. 

Bear  in  mind,  as  said  before,  that  this  strip  of  218  miles  of  color  and  grandeur  has 
no  special  points  of  view,  as  a  rule.  A  thousand  views  would,  perhaps,  have  nearly  as 
many  prominent  points  of  view.  Every  famous  temple,  tower  or  place  in  history  or 
song  or  story  seems  to  have  its  counterpart  here,  only  a  thousand  or  ten  thousand  times 
magnified.  Despite  the  deep  bed  of  the  river,  the  water  is  warm,  the  warm  color  of  the 
Nile.  Spending  a  night  here,  to  get  the  soft  moonlight,  as  if  in  some  cathedral  fashioned 
when  "there  were  giants  in  the  land,"   I  found  the  silence  fearful. 

And  now  a  pretty,  little,  pathetic  fact,  a  touch  of  tenderness,  humanity.  All  the  red 
colors  of  the  flower  kind  in  Christendom,  and  there  are  many,  seem  to  come  here  and 
look  down  from  the  dusty  brink  of  the  canyon,  into  this  riotous  yet  most  orderly  world 
of  red.  The  scarlet  cactus,  the  Indian  pink,  the  painter's  brush,  the  red  currant — indeed, 
about  a  dozen  bits,  dots  and  dashes  of  red  that  I  cannot  name,  look  down,  away  yonder, 
into  that  mighty  arena  of  red,  as  if  surely  a  part  of  it  all;  as  one  life  may  be  a  part  of  the 
Infinite. 

Color  is  king  here.  Take  the  grandest,  sublimest  thing  the  world  has  ever  seen, 
fashion  it  as  if  the  master  minds  from  the  "beginning"  had  wrought  here,  paint  it  as 
only  the  masters  of  old  could  paint,  and  you  have  El  Canon  Grande  del  Colorado ! 


DESCENDING  WALLAPAI   TRAJL    INTO   CATARACT  CANYON. 

60 


Copyright,  1900,  by  F.  H.  Maude 


HAMLIN   GARLAND 

as  well 


THE  GRAND  CANYON  Ar  NIGHT. 

BY  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 

Theauthor  of  "The  Eagle's  Heart,"  "Main  Traveled  Roads," 
"Rose  of  Dutcher's  Cooly,"  and  "Her  Mountain  Lover,"  has  of 
late  years  made  a  special  study  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  region. 
His  recent  stories  give  evidence  of  a  keen  understanding  of  its 
scenic  and  racial  types  and  a  sympathetic  appreciation  of  its  pic- 
turesque beauty.  Much  of  his  future  work  will  be  in  this  virgin 
field. 

Mr.  Garland  has  visited  Arizona  and  has  seen  the  Grand 
Canyon.  While  there  he  not  only  saw  the  big  chasm  itself,  but 
listened  with  attentive  ear  to  Hance's  marvelous  stories.  A 
charming  study  of  Hance  appears  elsewhere  herein. 

The  following  account  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  as  seen  at  night, 
was  written  by  Mr.  Garland  for  these  pages,  and  is  his  latest 
as  most  serious  interpretation  of  the  canyon's  many  moods: 


A  TWILIGHT  SCENE. 

*i^O  me  the  Grand  Canyon  possesses  two  distinct  entities.  It  is  at  once  a  majestic 
rift  in  the  earth  and  two  ranges  of  mountains.  As  I  look  back  upon  it,  two  views 
of  it  dominate  all  others. 

The  first  is  from  the  bank  of  the  turbulent  river  at  twilight,  where  I  sat  alone 
watching  the  sun  set  over  the  western  range,  while  a  superb  September  moon 
rose  solemnly  over  the  peaks  to  the  east.  It  is  worth  while  to  spend  a  night  alone 
among  these  prodigious  peaks  and  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  Colorado  as  it  roars  with 
ever-increasing  power,  like  some  imperious  nocturnal  animal — a  dragon  with  a  lion's 
throat.  As  the  shadows  deepen  in  the  lower  deeps,  beginning  to  wash  like  the  flood  of 
a  spectral  purple  sea  the  gray-green  mesas  of  the  lower  levels,  then  the  river's  voice  swells 
till  it  seems  to  fill  the  whole  enormous  canyon — savage,  solemn  and  persistent. 

It  was  deep  night  where  I  sat,  while  yet  on  the  eastern  peaks,  a  mile  above  my  head, 
the  sun's  rays  lay  in  hot  red  gold.  It  was  instructive  to  me  to  see  how,  one  by  one, 
assertive  lesser  heights  sank  into  shadow,  till  at  last  only  one  or  two  remained  to  wear 
crowns,  their  lonely  grandeur  no  longer  in  dispute.  And  then  the  moon  began  to  grow 
great,  like  the  river's  voice,  pouring  among  the  crags  a  mystical  radiance.  As  I  stood 
looking  at  the  ragged  edge  of  a  cliff  set  against  the  great  yellow  brim,  I  became  aware 
of  something  white  and  mysterious  at  my  right  hand;  some  strange,  ghostly,  awesome 
thing  had  crept  upon  me  silently  and  was  about  to  envelop  me.  For  an  instant  my 
blood  thickened  with  fear.  Was  it  some  ghost  of  the  river's  dark  caverns?  It  seemed 
so  close  I  had  but  to  reach  out  my  hand  and  feel  its  chill.  Each  moment  it  expanded, 
towering  over  me.  The  river  seemed  suddenly  more  fiercely  menacing  of  roar,  the 
darkness  about  my  feet  deeper,  and  mysterious  rustlings  arose  in  the  mesquite.  With  an 
effort  I  whirled  and  fronted  the  mysterious  presence.  It  was  the  face  of  a  cliff  across  the 
river,  smitten  into  white  radiance  and  brought  near  by  the  marvelous  light  of  the  moon. 
The  wall  of  rock  was  a  half  mile  away  and  three  thousand  feet  in  height. 

6i 


THE  GRAND  CANTON  AT  NIGHT. 


HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


ANOTHER  PHASE. 

When  I  came  out  of  the  canyon,  next  day  at  noon,  a  sounding  wind  was  blowing 
and  the  air  had  a  touch  of  autumn  bitterness  in  it.  The  whole  vast  chasm  was  roofed 
with  masses  of  gray  clouds  ranked  closely  and  hurrying  swiftly.  The  gloom  of  their 
presence  was  magnificent.  All  the  distracting  lines  of  the  canyon  walls  were  lost;  all 
tearing,  torturing  angles  softened  and  made  plastic.  The  haphazard  coloring  was  unified 
and  made  harmonious  by  deep  blue  curtains  of  mist.  Here,  too,  was  a  new  phase  of 
the  canyon.  I  began  to  understand  that  it  had  a  thousand  differing  moods,  and  that 
no  one  can  know  it  for  what  it  is  who  has  not  lived  with  it  every  day  of  the  year.  It  is 
like  a  mountain  range — a  cloud  to-day,  a  wall  of  marble  to-morrow.  When  the  light 
falls  into  it,  harsh,  direct  and  searching,  it  is  great,  but  not  beautiful.  The  lines  are 
chaotic,  disturbing — but  wait!  The  clouds  and  the  sunset,  the  moonrise  and  the  storm 
will  transform  it  into  a  splendor  no  mountain  range  can  surpass.  Peaks  will  shift  and 
glow,  walls  darken,  crags  take  fire,  and  gray-green  mesas,  dimly  seen,  take  on  the  gleam  of 
opalescent  lakes  of  mountain  water.  The  traveler  who  goes  out  to  the  edge  and  peers 
into  the  great  abyss  sees  but  one  phase  out  of  hundreds.  If  he  is  fortunate  it  may  be 
one  of  its  most  beautiful  combinations  of  color  and  shadow.  But  to  know  it,  to  feel  its 
majesty,  one  should  camp  in  the  bottom  and  watch  the  sunset  and  the  moonrise  while 
the  river  marches  from  its  lair  like  an  angry  lion. 


SAN  FRANCISCO   PEAKS,  NEAR   FLAGSTAFF. 


Plioto,  a.  L.  Rose. 


62 


WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE. 


ON  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 

By  WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE. 

Mr.  William  Allen  White  does  many  important  things  exceed- 
ingly well. 

He  owns  and  edits  a  successful  daily  newspaper.  The  Em- 
poria (Kansas)  Gazette.  That  is  the  place  where  he  most  loves  to 
be — where  the  news  is  gathered,  put  in  type,  and  printed.  "Just 
a  plain  newspaper  reporter"  is  the  way  he  defines  his  business. 

Mr.  White  also  has  written  such  books  as  "The  Court  of 
Boyville,"  "Stratagems  and  Spoils"  and  "The  Real  Issue." 

His  new  volume,  "In  Our  Town,"  treats  of  life  in   a  sort  of 

Kansas  "Thrums."     It  contains  a  score   of  reminiscent  sketches 

by   a   country  editor  who   tells  the  history  of  the  town,  and  the 

jstories  of  its  inhabitants.      It  is  his  sympathy  that  is   Mr.  White's 

Imost  striking  trait  as  a  humorist,  and  it  is  this  touch  that  mellows 

and  humanizes  his  humorous   portrayal   of  village   characters  and 

oddities,  and  makes  them  real  people  with  a  real  hold  upon  the  heart. 

His  work  appears  often  in  the  magazines,  in  the  form  of  stories  of  the  West,  and, 
occasionally,  vivid  exposure  to  public  view  of  the  kings  of  politics  and  finance. 

Below  are  given  a  few  extracts  from  Mr.  White's  notable  appreciation  of  the  Grand 
Canyon,  published  in  McClure's  Magazine  for  September,  1905,  and  illustrated  by 
Mr.  Fernand  Lungren. 

THE  ARTIST  AND  HIS  WIFE. 

NCE  an  artist  who  loved  the  wilderness  brought  his  bride  to  the  head  of  the 
Bright  Angel  Trail.  It  was  night  when  they  came  to  their  journey's  end, 
and  the  man  persuaded  the  woman  not  to  look  upon  the  Grand  Canyon  until 
morning.  When  the  sun  was  high,  he  blindfolded  her  and  led  her  out  of  the 
log  hotel  that  stood  upon  the  brink  of  the  precipice  to  a  point  of  rock  that 
overhangs  the  abyss.  For  two  days  and  nights  they  had  been  riding  through  the  desert, 
flat  and  gray,  with  blue  mountains  flickering  in  and  out  of  the  horizon,  with  a  few  jarring 
crevasses  and  buttes  and  blufi^s  to  emphasize  the  tranquillity  of  the  scene.  The  desert, 
with  its  sombre  serenity,  had  charmed  her  soul,  and  left  it  in  a  fine  repose.  As  she  stood 
blindfolded,  she  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  great  level  stretches  of  sand  and  sage  and 
cactus.  The  man  had  told  the  woman  little  of  the  canyon,  and  when  he  took  the 
bandages  from  her  eyes  he  held  her  very  tightly  as  she  looked  out  across  the  miles  and 
miles  of  tumult  of  form  and  riot  of  color  that  seemed  to  swirl  thousands  of  feet  below 
her  and  around  her.  As  from  the  clouds  she  looked  down  into  an  illimitable,  red- 
tinged,  ash-colored  hell,  abandoned  and  turned  to  stone  aeons  and  aeons  ago,  she 
stared  amazed  at  the  awful  thing  for  a  long  minute,  and  then,  as  the  tears  of  inexplicable 
emotion  dimmed  her  eyes,  she  turned  and  cried  vehemently  at  her  artist  husband: 
"If  you  ever  try  to  paint  that,  I'll  leave  you!" 

THE  HEART  OF  IT  IS  COLOR. 

It  cannot  be  that  the  fascination  one  feels  in  looking  at  this  canyon  is  a  delusion 

having   its  root  in   idleness  or   mere   self-mesmerism.     The  canyon   must    have   some 

meaning  for  men,  as  the  other  "visible  forms"  of  Nature  have.  The  sea,  with  its  ceaseless 

63 


ON  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE. 

motion  and  its  changeless  shores,  may  have  taught  men  poetry  and  given  them  the  first 
dreams  of  immortality;  the  woods  have  taught  men  to  pray,  and  the  sky  has  taught  them 
hope.  Here  at  this  canyon,  the  sun  and  the  dry,  clear  air  are  painting  a  changing  picture, 
full  of  color,  full  of  the  spirit  of  motion,  full  of  mystery.  One  should  not  say  that  the 
canyon  is  beautiful;  it  transcends  mere  beauty  and  passes  into  a  "far  more  exceeding 
glory."  But  the  heart  of  it  is  color.  It  is  a  rhapsody  in  color — great  splashes  and  bands 
and  daubs  of  color — blue  shadows,  deep  and  dead,  tawny,  strawberry-tinged  layers  of 
granite;  all  the  yellows  in  the  paint-box;  greens  and  gray-greens  and  pinks  and  lavenders, 
with  the  half-tones  floating  on  the  sun  wraiths  that  haunt  the  air.  He  who  can  look  at 
this  monster  chasm  and  not  feel  his  soul  stirring  in  uncanny  sympathy  with  its  depth  is 
dead,  and  Gabriel's  trumpet  will  do  little  for  him. 

ITS  ETERNAL  SILENCE. 

From  the  rim  one  gets  two  impressions — so  strong  that  they  seem  almost  too  big  for 
the  soul  to  hold — like  the  soul-smiting  terror  that  comes  to  one  who  gazes  long  at  the 
stars.  The  two  impressions  are  of  numberless  infinitely-reaching  horizontal  lines  and  of 
eternal  silence.  There  are  few  curves  in  the  stretches  of  stratified  rocks  that  make 
colored  ribbons  many  miles  long;  and  the  human  eye  is  not  used  to  taking  in  so  much. 
Over  these  vistas  the  dry  air  of  the  desert  quivers  with  the  heat.  Perhaps  it  is  the  river 
mist  rising;  perhaps  it  is  sheer  delusion;  but  in  the  motion  that  seems  to  stir  the  radiant 
air,  a  white  wraith  floats,  eluding  the  eyes  that  would  locate  it,  yet  ever  present  in  the 
sunlight  that  falls  upon  the  facing  clifi^s.  One  feels  that  this  illusory  apparition  is  the 
spirit  of  silence  that  dominates  the  scene.  And  it  is  the  silence  of  the  place  that  appalls. 
One  is  bewildered  with  the  maddening  thrall  of  pulsing  air,  and  throbbing  color,  and 
beckoning  lines,  all  leading  to  dreams  of  infinite  life;  and  against  that — the  silence  of  infinite 
death.  Indeed,  the  spirit  of  the  thing  below  seems  to  creep  into  a  man's  soul  through 
his  body  and  lay  hold  upon  his  heart  and  nerves.  At  night,  as  he  lies  in  his  bed,  the 
terrific  depths  that  strained  his  eyes  by  day  reach  up  and  grapple  him. 

ART  IN  NATURE. 

There  is  a  lift  and  mass  about  these  walls  that  fills  the  soul  with  unutterable  things. 
Out  between  the  diverging  walls,  if  the  time  be  early  afternoon,  the  sun  is  plying  his 
paint-brush  on  the  peaks  and  hills  below,  while  up  Bright  Angel  Creek  the  blue  shadows 
seem  to  be  smudged  into  the  canvas  in  a  rough,  crass  silhouette,  as  though  God's 
elementary  drawing-class  had  been  put  in  charge  of  the  lines  and  angles.  But  the  color 
— the  great  kaleidoscope  of  color  that  is  streaked  and  splashed  through  this  petrified 
silence,  the  symphony  of  the  blues  and  browns  and  grays  and  yellows  and  pinks  and 
reds,  with  the  faint  green  tints  of  the  scant  vegetation  of  the  place — the  color  is  the  work  of 
old  journeymen  angels,  who  know  what  delights  men's  souls.  *  *  ^'  The  details 
of  the  canyon — its  bits  of  composition — are  marvelous  in  this,  they  tally  so  perfectly  with 
man's  idea  of  art  in  the  arrangement  of  the  lines,  the  balancing  of  form  and  the  discipline 
of  color.  As  one  looks  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  amphitheater  towards  the  mysterious 
vista  that  stretches  in  the  hazy  distances  many  miles  away,  picture  after  picture  forms 
and  passes  that  might  well  have  been  made  by  some  titanic  human  artist,  so  admirably 
does  it  conform  to  the  rules  of  art. 

64 


ON  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. WILLIAM  ALLEN  WHITE. 

WAITING  FOR  THE  MASTER  ARTIST. 

One  who  is  alive  in  his  heart  or  in  his  head  may  not  go  down  the  trail  that  leads  into 
this  great  abyss  without  feeling  the  stir  of  emotions  that  never  before  have  found  speech. 
He  is  in  the  presence  of  big,  simple,  primordial  things  that  go  to  the  core  of  human 
nature,  and  seeing  these  things  man  may  not  babble  of.  matters  frescoed  on  the  surface 
of  life.  This  limitless  scenic  wonder  moves  men  to  their  highest  efforts,  and  painters, 
looking  at  it,  try  to  catch  the  incarnation  of  the  scene,  and  writers  to  set  it  down  in  words. 
It  seems  so  plain,  so  evident — so  trite  almost,  that  one  should  not  fail  to  transcribe  it. 
Yet  no  one  has  caught  it,  no  one  has  described  it.  No  one  has  ever  carried  away,  in  a 
book  or  on  a  canvas,  even  a  true  hint  of  it.  The  blue-black  shadows  of  the  morning,  that 
mark  so  rudely  the  angular  descent  of  Bright  Angel  Creek,  facing  the  trail  and  across  the 
canyon,  the  evanescent  mist,  the  glittering  white  frosting  of  the  marble-rock  band  upon 
the  distant  rim,  the  old-rose  banner  beneath  the  white,  the  gray-green  of  the  middle  distance, 
and  the  somber  brown-red  frame  of  shaded  rock-masses  that  make  the  outlooking 
doors  of  the  amphitheater  in  the  foreground — this  picture  seems  so  obvious  that  a  child 
might  make  it.  The  plays  of  Shakespeare  and  the  world's  masterpieces  of  painting,  sculp- 
ture, and  music  have  this  same  simplicity.  The  portrayal  of  any  great  fundamental 
passion  seems  just  as  easy  as  the  painting  of  this  canyon  landscape.  But  the  artists  who 
have  put  it  in  mimic  form  and  color  have  made  it  complex.  And  the  writers  who  have 
tried  to  tell  of  it  have  made  mere  muddles  of  words  that  mean  nothing.  The  canyon's 
master  has  not  come  to  it. 

THE  SACRILEGIOUS  YARD  STICK. 

The  high  white  band  of  rock  just  under  the  further  rim  is  shining  in  the  sun.  It 
seems  a  dainty  strip  in  the  distance,  but  back  along  the  trail,  at  the  top  of  the  amphi- 
theater, a  white  marble  ledge  rises  five  hundred  feet  to  the  roof  of  the  world;  it  is  a  two- 
hours'  walk  down  this  cliff,  yet  it  is  the  white  ribbon  that  flashed  in  the  sunset  across  the 
river,  lending   itself  to   mere  decoration   and   losing  its   dignity   in   distance.      *     *     * 

The  canyon's  spectacular  effect  grows  dimmer  in  the  consciousness,  and  one  feels 
himself  confusedly  tr"ying  to  comprehend  the  chasm's  immensity.'  Yet  this  may  not 
be  done — except  in  meaningless  figures.  As  well  try  to  grasp  the  idea  of  God's  origin, 
or  the  distance  between  the  stars,  as  to  put  into  finite  comprehension  the  realities  of 
this  gorge.  Looking  backward  up  the  walks  of  the  great  half-cylinder  down  which  we 
have  been  winding  the  whole  long  afternoon,  the  hotel  at  the  top  is  seen,  a  pebble  on  the 
heights;  and  looking  forward  through  the  slit  in  the  cylinder  toward  the  opposing  wall  of 
the  canyon,  one  faces  such  a  spellbound  stone  sea,  with  enchanted  waves  and  billows 
reaching  into  the  blue  distance  so  far  that  to  bring  it  under  the  yardstick  is  a  sacrilege. 

MOONLIGHT  IN  THE  CANYON. 

Moonlight  in  the  canyon  is  a  ghastly  sight;  the  life  goes  out  of  the  light,  and  one 
seems  to  be  looking  upon  the  face  of  death,  for  color  is  the  soul  of  the  place.  At  night 
the  silence  of  the  stars  and  the  silence  of  this  pit — each  eternal  and  maddening  to  human 
consciousness — mingle  in  an  awful  spell  that  falls  upon  the  soul  like  the  lonesomeness  of 
the  grave.  There  is  something  of  death  in  life  and  of  life  in  death  in  the  grim  inevitable- 
ness  of  this  silence,  so  changeless  and  yet  so  vital.  The  stars  and  the  yawning  canyon 
grip  the  soul  and  draw  it  to  a  communion  with  something  strong  outside  itself — some- 
thing that  the  ancient  people  meant  when  they  said  that  they  walked  with  God. 

65 


THE  CANYON  BY  DARK  AND  BY  DAY. 

BY  C.  S.  GLEED. 

Mr.  Charles  S.  Gleed  resides  in  Topeka,  the  capital  city  of 
Kansas.  While  representing  what  is  best  and  most  aggressive 
in  Westfern  life,  his  many  business  interests  have  also  brought 
him  closely  in  touch  with  Eastern  affairs,  and  he  is  as  honored 
in  New  York  as  at  home. 

Mr.  Gleed  is  a  lawyer  whose  wise  judgment  is  sought  by 
several  large  corporations.  He  is  a  member  of  the  board  of 
directors  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railway.  He 
controls  an  influential  newspaper  at  Kansas  City.  He  writes 
timely  articles  for  the  magazines.  He  is  an  able  public  speaker 
and  intimately  knows  a  great  number  of  the  persons  who  make 
things  come  to  pass — being  himself  a  prominent  member  of 
that  brotherhood, 
deed's  first  trip  to  the  canyon  is  given  below: 


CHARLES   S.   GLEED 


The  story  of  Mr. 


THE  STAGE— AND  THE  BLACK  PIT. 

»Y  first  arrival  at  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  was  at  midnight.  It  was  long 
ago  and  we  went  by  stage — one  of  the  worst  stages  that  ever  was.  Many 
times  we  lost  our  way,  and  when  night  fell  we  had  little  hope  of  reaching 
the  canyon  until  next  day.  But  at  midnight  we  blundered  into  camp  and 
the  consolations  of  supper  and  rest  were  soon  ours. 
At  about  one  o'clock  we  crept  out  of  the  little  valley  of  the  camp  and  made  our  way 
silently,  like  scouts,  toward  the  object  of  our  desire.  Above  us  the  giant  trees  murmured 
at  our  invasion  of  the  splendid  solitude  of  the  place.  The  moon,  young  and  irresolute, 
a  mere  mark  of  parenthesis,  peered  timidly  from  between  hurrying  clouds,  and  the  stars 
glimmered  faintly  as  if  disheartened.  When  the  trees  were  quiet  a  deep-sea  stillness 
prevailed.  No  life  of  any  kind  gave  sign.  Slowly  we  crept  up  the  slope,  then  over  a 
narrow  bridge  of  rock,  and  at  last,  obedient  to  the  guide,  put  forth  our  hands.  We 
found  an  edge,  a  declivity,  an  absolute  end.  We  clutched  vainly  at  black  space.  To 
fathom  this  space  we  thrust  over  a  big  stone.  No  sound  came  back.  The  pit  was 
bottomless — the  grave  of  the  world.  Down  in  that  empire  of  night  we  seemed  to  discern 
new  seas  and  new  continents  of  outer  and  utter  darkness.  The  very  soul  of  night  welled 
up  from  the  abyss.  Tidal  waves  of  shade  surged  from  below  and  overwhelmed  the 
pinnacle  where  we  clung.  A  paralysis  of  surprise  held  us.  Helplessness  wound  about 
us  and  the  hypnotism  of  wonder  took  our  faculties  captive.  The  mystery  fascinated, 
the  void  beckoned.  We  scarcely  knew  why  we  did  not  obey  the  summons — why  we 
did  not  abandon  the  present  and,  by  following  the  big  stone,  escape  to  the  future. 

MORNING  REVELATIONS. 

The  hour  of  light  came  on.  In  through  the  sweet  pellucid  air  of  that  high  place  came 
the  arrows  of  the  Aztec  sun.  They  pierced  the  heart  of  the  valley  of  night  and,  miracle 
of  miracles,  a  revolution  and  a  revelation!  Before  us  grew  downward  a  wall  of  prodigious 
depth.  Tier  on  tier  of  titanic  masonry  sprang  into  sight.  Splendid  colors  spread  like 
blushes.     Every  tint  ever  imagined  came  quivering,  shimmering,  flashing,  as  if  the  great 

66 


THE  CANTON  BT  DARK  AND  BT  DAT. C.  S.  GLEED. 

wall  were  a  splendid  tapestry  waving  in  the  sun.  Away  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  came 
marching  into  view,  like  mighty  armies,  miles  and  miles  of  majestic  scenery  such  as  we 
had  never  before  known.  Clearer  and  clearer  grew  the  outlines.  Night  was  overcome, 
day  had  triumphed,  and  there  at  last  we  saw  in  all  its  splendor  the  Grand  Canyon 
of  Arizona. 

Far  away  it  stretches,  showing  at  a  single  glance  nearly  a  hundred  miles  of  its  length. 
Like  the  zigzag  track  of  stupendous  lightning  it  lies,  an  eternal  furrow  in  the  face  of  earth. 
At  the  bottom,  down  below  all  the  carnival  of  quaint  and  majestic  forms,  down,  down, 
where  a  thousand  feet  seem  scarcely  ten,  runs  the  river — the  Colorado — hardly  known  of 
men  until  it  breaks  away  through  the  desert  as  the  boiling,  surging  boundary  between  the 
territory  of  Arizona  and  the  state  of  California.  This  river,  this  stream  of  solitude,  fed 
by  the  eternal  springs  and  the  perpetual  snows  of  the  Rocky  Range,  fights  its  way  for 
nearly  three  hundred  miles  through  the  pass,  wrangling  with  mighty  bowlders  and  at  war 
with  unconquerable  walls.  When  finally  it  emerges  it  is  unmistakably  sullen  and  resent- 
ful, as  if  it  could  neither  forget  nor  forgive  its  cruel  battles  above. 

AS  THE  IMAGINATION  RUNS. 

But  the  canyon!  Surrendering  our  minds  to  the  magic  spell  of  that  mighty  chasm, 
what  pictures  troop  before  us!  Yonder  see  Gibraltar,  giant  sentinel  of  the  Mediterranean. 
There  on  long  ledges  are  St.  Peter's  and  St.  Paul's,  Niagara,  the  Pyramids  and  the  tower 
of  Pisa.  Bracketed  beyond  are  the  great  parliament  houses  of  the  world.  Down  below 
behold  in  life  size  the  lesser  mountains  of  our  own  land — Washington,  Monadnock, 
Mansfield,  Lookout  and  a  thousand  others.  See  in  the  distance  million  colored  pictures 
of  the  Alps,  the  Adirondacks  and  the  Sierras.  On  endless  shelves,  this  way  and  that, 
behold  the  temples  and  cathedrals,  the  castles  and  fortresses  of  all  time.  See  vast  armies, 
the  armies  of  the  ages,  winding  up  the  slopes,  and  great  navies  maneuvering  in  the  mirage- 
like distance.  Here,  indeed,  the  giant  mind  of  Dante  would  have  found  new  worlds  to 
conquer;  and  Homer  would  have  dreamed  new  dreams  of  gods  and  men,  love  and  war, 
life  and  death,  heaven  and  hell. 

Outrun,  overcome  and  weary,  the  mind  of  the  watcher  surrenders,  and,  while  it  waits, 
the  moments  lengthen  to  hours  and  the  hours  to  days.  Measures  of  time  intrude  and 
there  is  no  fit  ending  for  the  reverie. 

"Vastness!  and  Age!  and  memories  of  Eld! 
Silence!  and  Desolation!  and  dim  Night! 
I  feel  ye  now — I  feel  ye  in  your  strength — 
Oh  spells  more  sure  than  e'er  Judaean  King 
Taught  in  the  Gardens  of  Gethsemane ! 
Oh  charms  more  potent  than  the  rapt  Chfldee 
Ever  drew  down  from  out  the  quiet  stars." 


67 


rHE  GEOLOGY  OF  THE  GRAND  CANYON  REGION. 

BY  PROF.  R.  D.  SALISBURY. 

■    " -'^l  Geology  deals  with  facts  about  the  earth's  crust.     It  begins 

,^  with  the  beginnings  of  time  and  in  its  computations  a  thousand 

^^k  years  are  as  one  day.     Looked  at  from  one  viewpoint  it  might 

^^B  be  accounted  prosaic,  eternally  wedded  to  the  ground.      But  it 

\jnr  has  wings.     He  who  reads  with  unquickened  pulse  and  with  no 

^K[  stir  of  the  imagination  the  epic  accounts  of  earth's  submersion, 

^^  uplifting  and  erosion — each  era  comprising  millions  of  years — 

■^^■h^^  should  not  visit  the  Grand  Canyon.  For  him  that  open  page  of 
V^^^^Hj  Nature's  world-building  processes  would  have  no  meaning  or 
■^^^^H|  charm.  But  for  him  who  wishes  to  build  his  vision  on  a 
ilBPiP^^^!  solid  ground  of  facts — who  cares  to  know  what  story  the 
_ J  rocks  tell — the  article  which  follows  will  be  more  interesting 
PROF.  R.  D.  SALISBURY.  than  a  romance. 

Professor  Salisbury,  the  writer  thereof,  is  connected  with  the  University  of  Chicago 
as  professor  of  geographic  geology.  He  is  a  member  of  many  prominent  scientific 
societies,  has  written  several  books,  is  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Journal  of  Geology,  is 
connected  with  the  United  States  Geological  Survey,  and  stands  in  the  front  rank  of 
American  geologists.  The  surface  geology  of  New  Jersey  has  been  one  of  Professor 
Salisbury's  special  studies. 

GEOLOGY  OF  THE  GRAND  CANYON  REGION. 

HE  Grand  River,  taking  its  source  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  of  northern 
Colorado,  and  the  Green  River,  which  has  its  beginning  in  the  Wind  River 
Mountains  of  Wyoming,  unite  in  southeastern  Utah  to  form  the  Colorado 
River.  From  this  point  the  Colorado  flows  first  in  a  southwesterly  and  then 
in  a  westerly  course  through  the  plateau  region  of  southeastern  Utah  and 
northern  Arizona,  in  the  most  remarkable  canyon  of  the  world.  From  the  mouth  of 
the  Little  Colorado  (Colorado  Chiquito)  in  the  central  part  of  northern  Arizona  to  the 
Grand  Wash  in  the  northwestern  part  of  the  territory  this  canyon,  appropriately  known 
as  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona,  is  somewhat  more  than  200  miles  long,  while  its  depth 
is  often  rather  more  than  a  mile.  So  far  as  present  knowledge  goes  it  is  the  greatest 
trench  in  the  earth's  crust.  A  scarcely  less  remarkable  canyon — the  Marble  Canyon — 
though  but  one-third  as  long,  lies  above  the  head  of  the  Grand  Canyon. 

THE  SURFACE  OF  THE  PLATEAU. 

The  altitude  of  the  plateau  in  which  the  canyon  lies  varies  considerably,  and  the 
variation  is  greater  north  of  the  river  than  south  of  it.  The  larger  part  of  the  plateau  is 
about  7,000  feet  above  the  sea.  Great  as  this  elevation  is,  the  plateau  is  bordered  on  the 
north  by  still  higher  lands,  the  High  Plateaus  of  Utah,  which  rise  some  4,000  feet  above 
the  general  level  of  the  surface  about  the  canyon.  To  the  west,  the  plateau  of  the 
canyon  region  falls  off  abruptly  along  the  Grand  Wash,  near  the  114th  meridian,  to  a 
desert  country  beyond.  To  the  south,  it  is  terminated  by  a  less  marked  and  more  irreg- 
ular escarpment,  falling  off  to  the  lower  levels  and  more  broken  lands  of  central  and 
southern  Arizona.  To  the  east,  the  limits  are  less  well  defined;  for  present  purposes, 
however,  the  plateau  of  the  Colorado  may  be  considered  as  ending  at  the  conspicuous 

68 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURY. 


escarpment  of  the  Echo  Cliffs,  east  of  the  Marble  Canyon.  On  the  north  and  east, 
therefore,  the  plateau  is  bordered  by  still  higher  plateaus,  while  on  the  south  and  west  it 
descends  to  lower  lands. 

That  portion  lying  south  of  the  canyon  may  be  looked  on  as  a  unit.  The  part  lying 
north  of  the  river  is  divided  into  four  subordinate  sections,  separated  from  one  another 
by  abrupt  escarpments.  Some  of  these  escarpments  mark  the  position  of  great  vertical 
fissures  extending  thousands  of  feet  down  into  the  earth's  crust,  along  which  the  rock 
strata  have  been  displaced  (Fig.  i)  or  faulted,  while  others  represent  great  flexures  (Fig.  2). 


Fig.  I. 


3EII3ZII 


-■-^J     r-J. 


'I    '..K-   r-^V^L 


t^ 


///h 


sh,  at  the  western  border  of 
1  Dutton.) 

X^f  ^Y^il^  ^^  Jjorz  o  c//'/7  < 


The  fault  escarpment  along  the  Grand  Wash,  at  the  western  border  of  the 
Canyon  plateau.      (Taken  from  Dutton.) 


"E^ITS 


«.^f  A  /e/e/ 


Fig.  2.      A  monoclinal  escarpment  in  the  plateau  north  of  the  river  in  the  eastern  part  of  the 
Grand  Canyon  region.      (Taken  from  Dutton.) 

Much  of  that  part  of  the  plateau  lying  south  of  the  canyon  is  nearly  flat,  though  the 
general  level  is  interrupted  here  and  there  (i)  by  somewhat  notable  elevations,  and  (2) 
by  equally  notable  valleys  and  gorges.  Some  of  the  elevations,  like  the  San  Francisco 
Mountain  at  Flagstaff,  and  Red  Butte  farther  north,  rise  thousands  of  feet  above  the 
general  level,  and  some  of  the  depressions  are  thousands  of  feet  below  it. 

THE  STRUCTURE  OF  THE  PLATEAU. 

The  general  structure  of  the  plateau  region  is  rather  simple.  To  great  depths  it  is 
made  up  primarily  of  nearly  horizontal  layers  of  rock  of  various  sorts  and  colors  lying 
one  above  another.  This  structure  is  best  shown  in  the  walls  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  but 
it  is  also  shown  in  most  of  the  minor  tributary  canyons,  where  the  absence  of  vegetation 
and  soil  expose  the  plan  of  the  structure  so  plainly  that  its  simpler  elements  may  be 
grasped  at  a  glance.  Although  the  beds  of  rock  appear  to  be  horizontal,  they  are  not 
absolutely  so,  but  dip  slightly  to  the  north.  Thus  the  beds  which  are  about  7,800  feet 
above  sea  level  at  the  base  of  the  San  Francisco  Peaks  are  only  6,400  feet  above  sea 
level  at  the  rim  of  the  canyon  forty-odd  miles  to  the  north,  and  4,400  feet  above  the  same 
datum  plane  at  the  Vermilion  Cliffs,  nearly  an  equal  distance  farther  in  the  same  direction. 

There  is  a  second  element  in  the  structure  of  the  plateau  which  appears  to  best 

69 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


advantage  in  the  walls  of  the  canyon.  This  is  a  series  of  nearly  vertical  fissures,  by 
which  the  horizontal  beds  are  broken  up  into  a  series  of  blocks.  These  vertical  fissures 
run  in  various  directions,  but  there  are  two  principal  sets,  approximately  at  right  angles 
to  each  other.  It  is  the  combination  of  horizontal  lines  occasioned  by  the  bedding  planes 
and  of  vertical  lines  occasioned  by  the  fissures,  that  produces  the  remarkable  architectural 
effects  so  common  in  the  canyon.     (See  Plate  1.) 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  PLATEAU. 

The  history  of  the  plateau  in  which  the  Grand  Canyon  is  cut  has  been  a  long  one, 
but  its  principal  elements  are  well  understood.  The  Grand  Canyon  and  all  the  minor 
canyons  tributary  to  it  were  cut  by  running  water.  If  they  were  filled,  thus  obliterating 
the  work  of  the  streams,  the  surface  of  the  plateau  between  the  railway  and  the  canyon 
would  be  nearly  flat  except  for  the  volcanic  hills  and  mountains,  and  the  few  buttes  of 
stratified  rock  which  rise  above  the  general  level.  This  was  the  condition  of  the  surface 
before  the  streams  of  modern  times  had  sculptured  it. 

The  buttes  of  stratified  rock  which  dot  the  plateau  are  significant  of  certain  phases  of 
its  history.  These  buttes  are  made  up  of  isolated  remnants  of  strata  which  once  overlay 
the  whole  plateau.  They  are  mute  but  unequivocal  witnesses  of  the  great  erosion  which 
has  removed  beds  of  rock,  hundreds  and  thousands  of  feet  in  thickness,  from  the  larger 
part  of  the  surface  of  the  region.  The  same  thing  is  suggested  by  the  escarpments  to 
the  north  and  east  where  higher  and  younger  strata,  corresponding  with  those  of  the 
buttes,  overlie  the  beds  which  now  constitute  the  surface  of  the  plateau  (Figs.  3  and  4). 
The  present  plateau  surface  therefore  represents  a  surface  of  erosion  cut  down  from  a 
surface  which  was  once  far  above  it     (Fig.  5). 

The  plateau  in  which  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado  is  cut  is  a  plain  of  erosion, 
or  base-level  plain,  originally  developed  near  sea  level.  Its  present  position,  high  above 
the  sea,  shows  that  it  has  been  elevated  several  thousand  feet,  more  than  a  mile  indeed, 
since  the  time  of  its  development,  for  base  levels  are  developed  only  near  sea  level,  and 


^h  i'f/-^- 


'^^^A^ 


•■•jir^  L-—  ic  I  .^r::^ 


ZJ. 


■  ..^  ^  v^  ■-. 


^-.l^^j;,:^:^^^.^!^ 


^c^  /c^/f/. 


Fig.  3.      The  Echo  Cliffs  at  the  east  border  of  the  canyon  plateau,  showing  that  the  strata  to  the  east  once 
extended  west  over  the  plateau  of  the  canyon.      (Taken  from  Dutton. ) 


Fig.  4.      Section  north  from  the  canyon  plateau,  showing  that  the  beds  which  outcrop  in  the  cliffs  to  the  north 
once  extended  south  over  some  or  all  of  the  canyon  plateau.      (Taken  from  Dutton.) 


70 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


C    T\    A   Al     D      CA/M  O  AJ 


Fig.  5.      Section  across  the  Grand  Canyon,  showing  its  present  relations  in  full  lines,  and  suggesting,  by  the 
dotted  line  above,  the  thickness  of  rock  which  may  have  been  removed. 


^V 


B.  D. 

Fig.  6.      A  series  of  sections  illustrating  the  base  leveling  of  a  plateau  by  the  widening  of  the  valleys. 

this  old  base  level  is  now  more  than  a  mile  above  the  sea.  Since  its  elevation,  the  rain 
and  the  rivers  have  cut  the  canyons  and  gorges  which  affect  its  surface. 

The  development  of  these  flat  surfaces  (base  levels  of  erosion)  by  rain,  rivers  and  wind 
is  an  interesting  study.  Briefly,  swift  streams  cut  downward;  when  the  velocity  is  slight, 
the  downward  cutting  ceases,  but  the  side  cutting  continues,  and  the  widening  of  the 
valleys  goes  on  until  the  intervening  divides  are  worn  away.  (Fig.  6.)  Both  processes 
are  still  going  on  in  the  Grand  Canyon. 

From  the  buttes,  and  from  the  escarpments  on  the  borders  of  the  plateau  (Figs.  3 
and  4),  some  conception  may  be  gained  of  the  extent  of  the  erosion  involved  in  the  devel- 
opment of  the  plairt-,  which  was  later  lifted  up  to  the  estate  of  a  plateau.  The  plateau  of 
the  canyon  passes  into  the  High  Plateaus  of  Utah  by  a  series  of  terraces.  North  of  the 
canyon,  the  first  of  these  terraces  rises  abruptly  several  hundred  feet  above  the  plateau 
to  the  south.  Following  northward  over  the  nearly  level  surface  of  the  first  terrace, 
a  second  escarpment  several  hundred  feet  in  height  is  reached.  Followed  to  the  north, 
the  level  surface  above  this  escarpment  rises  to  higher  altitudes,  sometimes  by  distinct 
escarpments,  and  sometimes  by  more  gradual  slopes.  These  several  escarpments  repre- 
sent the  edges  of  formations  younger  than  those  of  the  plateau,  some  or  all  of  which 
once  extended  southward  over  the  whole  region.  The  thickness  of  the  formations  which 
have  been  cut  ofl^  from  the  surface  of  the  plateau  represents  the  amount  of  erosion  which 
has  been  accomplished.  If  all  the  formations,  the  edges  of  which  lie  to  the  north  and  the 
east,  once  extended  over  the  plateau,  as  seems  likely  (Button),  it  would  appear  that  the 
thickness  of  the  beds  removed  must  be  something  like  10,000  feet,  or  approximately  two 
miles.  Were  these  strata  put  back  the  surface  of  the  plateau  would  be  built  up  to  a 
height  which  is  rivaled,  among  existing  plateaus,  only  by  the  great  plateau  of  Thibet.  It 
is  to  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  present  plateau  surface  was  developed  near  sea 
level  as  a  low  plain^  and  that  it  was  not  until  a  much  later  time  that  it  was  finally  lifted 

71 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURY. 


to  its  present  position.  The  altitude  of  the  plateau  was,  therefore,  probably  never  so 
great  as  the  above  comparison  seems  to  imply.  The  uplift  which  followed  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plain  was  probably  not  less  than  6,000  feet.  The  aggregate  uplift  of  the 
region  in  the  course  of  its  history  was  far  greater  than  this,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  sequel. 
The  area  from  which  the  thicknesses  of  rock  mentioned  in  the  last  paragraph  appear 
to  have  been  removed  is  not  less  than  13,000  to  15,000  square  miles.  The  length  of 
time  necessary  for  the  removal  of  such  thicknesses  of  strata  from  so  great  an  area  was  very 
great.  While  there  is  no  means  of  measuring  it  in  years,  its  duration  should  probably  be 
measured  in  terms  of  millions  of  years,  rather  than  in  terms  of  a  lesser  denomination. 

SUBDIVISIONS  OF  GEOLOGIC  TIME. 

Geologic  time  is  classified  by  geologists  as  follows — the  oldest  division  (i)  standing  at 
the  bottom  and  the  youngest  at  the  top: 


ERAS. 

PERIODS. 

Pleistocene, 
Pliocene, 

ERAS. 

PERIODS. 

Permian, 
Carboniferous, 

Cenozoic 

Miocene, 
Oligocene, 
Eocene. 
'   Cretaceous, 

3- 

Paleozoic 

Devonian, 
Silurian, 
Ordovician, 
Cambrian. 

Mesozoic - 

Jurassic, 

2. 

Proterozoic  ----- 

-  Algonkian. 

Triassic. 

I. 

Archeozoic 

-  Archean. 

LIMESTONE  CAVES,  GRAND  VIEW  TRAIL. 


Fhoto,  Putnam  dt  Valentine. 


72 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


The  Archean  System.  Several  of  the  systems  of  rocks  made  during  the  several 
periods  of  geologic  time  are  represented  in  the  Grand  Canyon  region.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  canyon  throughout  much  of  its  course,  the  Archean  system,  the  oldest  of  which 
geologists  have  knowledge,  is  exposed.  The  Archean  is  shown  in  two  long  sections  of 
the  canyon's  course.  The  first  is  from  a  point  a  short  distance  below  the  foot  of  Hance's 
Trail  (about  1 12°  long),  down  to  about  longitude  112°  30'.  The  second  is  farther  down 
the  canyon,  between  the  longitude  of  113°  15'  and  114°,  approximately.  The  Archean 
rock  of  this  region  was  originally  mainly  or  wholly  of  igneous  rock,  but  much  of  it  has 
been  extensively  altered  by  great  pressure  and  other  metamorphosing  agencies.  It  is 
now  chiefly  metamorphic.  Into  the  metamorphic  rock  which  forms  the  body  of  the 
Archean  considerable  masses  of  igneous  rock  of  lesser  age  and  of  various  sorts  have  been 
injected.  The  Archean  is  therefore  made  up  primarily  of  metamorphic  rock,  affected  in 
many  places  by  igneous  rock  intruded  into  it  in  later  times. 

Popularly,  the  Archean  rock  of  the  region  passes  under  the  name  of  granite.  In  that 
part  most  commonly  visited,  it  forms  the  walls  of  the  inner  gorge  for  more  than  1,000 
feet  above  the  river.  It  can  be  distinguished  from  most  of  the  overlying  rock  because 
of  its  lack  of  stratification.  Where  it  forms  the  wall  of  the  canyon  horizontal  lines  are 
wanting.  It  erodes  differently  from  the  beds  above,  standing  with  steeper  slopes  and 
rougher  faces.  Where  it  forms  the  inner  gorge  of  the  canyon,  the  canyon  is  narrow, 
steep-sided  and  most  forbidding  (Plate  II).  The  somber  appearance  is  emphasized  by 
the  dark  color  of  the  rock,  which  is  in  contrast  with  the  lighter  and  brighter  colors  above. 
In  descending  to  the  river  at  some  points,  as  at  the  foot  of  Berry's  trail,  horses  must  be 
left  behind  when  the  surface  of  this  formation  is  reached,  and  the  descent  to  the  river 
made  on  foot. 

The  surface  of  the  Archean,  on  which  the  younger  formations  rest,  is  often  nearly 
smooth  and  much  of  the  way  nearly  flat.  Its  flat  surface  appears  to  have  been  developed 
at  a  very  early  stage  in  the  earth's  history,  by  the  same  agencies  which  developed  the 
plateau  surface  above  at  a  much  later  time  and  by  the  same  forces  which  are  developing 
flat  land  surfaces  to-day.  In  other  words,  the  surface  of  the  Archean  represents  a  surface 
of  erosion  developed  before  the  stratified  rocks  which  now  cover  it  were  deposited. 
Immediately  above  the  Archean,  in  the  more  accessible  parts  of  the  canyon,  are  the  nearly 
horizontal  beds  of  sedimentary  rock  already  referred  to  as  underlying  the  plateau  about 
the  canyon. 

The  Algonkian  System.  Just  below  the  foot  of  Hance's  trail  the  surface  of  the 
Archean  declines  or  dips  to  the  eastward,  while  the  base  of  the  horizontal  beds  of  stratified 


Fig.  7.      Section  showing  the  relations  of  the  various  formations  in  the  wall  of  the  canyon,  near  the  foot  of  Hance's 
trail.     The  right  hand  portion  of  the  figure  is  up  stream,  and  the  left  hand  portion  down  stream. 


73 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. R.  D.  SALTS  BURT. 

rock  continues  eastward  in  a  nearly  horizontal  line.  Between  the  declining  surface 
of  the  Archean  below  and  the  base  of  the  horizontal  beds  above,  comes  in  another  series 
of  strata  (Fig.  7).  Like  the  beds  above,  they  are  stratified,  but  instead  of  being  hori- 
zontal, they  dip  to  the  east  at  the  same  angle  at  which  the  surface  of  the  Archean  declines. 
This  dipping  series  of  stratified  rock  is  of  Algonkian  age. 

These  tilted  beds  of  sandstone  and  shale  were  originally  laid  down  beneath  the  sea,  as 
beds  of  mud  and  sand,  on  the  nearly  even  surface  of  the  Archean.  The  sand  and  mud 
were  derived  from  lands  which  existed  somewhere  in  the  vicinity.  The  sediments  were 
doubtless  carried  down  to  the  sea  by  rivers  or  washed  from  the  shores  by  waves,  just  as 
the  sand  and  mud  now  being  deposited  in  the  sea  are  derived  from  the  land.  At  the 
time  of  their  deposition  these  beds  were  essentially  horizontal.  Subsequently  the  beds 
of  sand  became  sandstone,  and  those  of  mud  became  shale,  by  cementation.  That  the 
sediments  accumulated  in  water  is  shown  by  their  stratification.  That  the  water  was 
salt  is  shown  by  the  character  of  the  few  fossils  which,  the  beds  contain.  This  system 
of  rocks,  the  Algonkian,  is  the  oldest  system  which  has  yielded  fossils  of  any  sort  in  any 
part  of  the  world. 

At  some  later  time  the  Archean  of  this  region  and  the  overlying  horizontal  beds  of 
Algonkian  age  were  lifted  up,  converting  the  sea  bottom  of  the  Algonkian  period  into 
land.  The  uplift  was  unequal,  causing  the  beds  which  had  been  horizontal  to  be  tilted 
to  the  eastward  and  at  the  same  time  warping  the  top  of  the  Archean  out  of  planeness. 
After  the  conversion  of  the  sea  bottom  into  land  a  long  period  of  erosion  ensued  and  a 
new  base-level  of  erosion  was  developed,  involving  both  the  Algonkian  and  the  Archean 
(Fig.  7).  Over  considerable  areas  the  Algonkian  was  completely  worn  away,  but  to 
the  east  (at  the  foot  of  Hance's  Trail  and  above)  part  of  it  still  remains. 

The  Algonkian  beds  are  mostly  of  bright  colors,  among  which  deep,  rich  reds  pre- 
dominate, giving  especial  brilliancy  to  the  coloring  of  that  part  of  the  canyon  where 
they  are  exposed.  The  sedimentary  beds  of  Algonkian  age  are  here  and  there  cut  by 
dikes  of  igneous  rock,  and  sheets  of  lava  have  locally  been  intruded  between  the  beds  of 
sedimentary  origin.  The  Algonkian  rocks  of  this  region  were  appropriately  named  by 
Powell  the  Grand  Canyon  series. 

The  original  thickness  of  the  Algonkian  system  must  have  been  very  great.  What 
now  remains  has  a  thickness  of  nearly  12,000  feet,  as  measured  by  Walcott.  The  length 
of  time  necessary  for  the  deposition  of  such  thicknesses  of  sediment  was  almost  inconceiv- 
ably long.  After  they  were  deposited,  the  further  time  necessary  for  the  uplift  (for  such 
movements  are  usually  very  slow)  and  for  the  development  of  the  flat  surface  of  erosion 
(Fig.  7)  which  cuts  across  Archean  and  Algonkian  alike,  was  also  very  long.  It 
appears  to  have  occupied  all  the  earlier  part  of  the  next  succeeding  (Cambrian)  period. 
The  time  necessary  for  the  deposition  of  the  rocks  of  the  Algonkian  and  for  the  erosion 
which  it  suffered  after  being  uplifted  is  doubtless  to  be  reckoned  in  millions  of  years. 

The  Cambrian  System.  After  prolonged  erosion  had  developed  the  flat  surface 
across  Archean  and  Algonkian  alike  (Fig.  7),  the  region  again  sank  below  the  level 
of  the  sea,  and  over  the  submerged  plain,  other  sediments,  derived  from  lands  which 
still  lay  somewhere  in  the  vicinity,  were  deposited.  These  sediments  were  subsequently 
cemented  into  sandstone,  shale,  etc.,  and  now  overlie  the  older  formations. 

This  system  of  rocks  is  the  Cambrian,  but  the  beds  which  are  present  in  this  region 
seem  to  have  been  deposited  in  the  later  part  of  the  period,  leading  to  the  inference  that 

74 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. R.  D.  SALTS  BURT. 

the  region  was  out  of  water  and  suffering  erosion  in  the  earher  part.  At  the  foot  of 
Hance's  Trail  and  above,  the  Cambrian  beds  rest  on  the  Grand  Canyon  series  (Fig.  7); 
but  a  short  distance  below,  the  Algonkian  disappears,  and  the  Cambrian  system  rests 
directly  on  the  Archean  (Fig.  7).  In  most  of  the  readily  accessible  parts  of  the  canyon 
the  Cambrian  rocks  are  the  lowest  bedded  series,  the  strata  of  which  are  approximately 
horizontal.  They  are  of  much  duller  colors  than  the  Algonkian  below  or  the  Carbon- 
iferous above.  The  broad  terrace  two-thirds  or  three-fourths  of  the  way  from  the  top  to 
the  bottom  of  the  canyon  is  at  the  level  of  the  Cambrian  sandstone  in  those  parts  of 
the  canyon  most  visited  (see  Fig.  5  and  Plate  III).  The  thickness  of  the  Cambrian 
system  in  this  region  is  more  than  1,000  feet.  The  Cambrian  of  this  region  is  often 
known  as  the  Tonto  formation,  the  principal  rock  of  which  is  sandstone.  It  is  not  rich 
in  fossils,  though  they  are  sufficiently  numerous  to  establish  the  age  of  the  beds,  and  the 
fact  that  the  sediments  were  accumulated  in  salt  water.  The  character  of  the  sediments 
and  their  structure  show  further,  that  the  water  in  which  they  were  laid  down  was  shallow. 

Sometime  subsequent  to  this  period  of  depression  and  submergence  the  area  seems 
again  to  have  emerged  from  the  sea,  either  by  the  rise  of  the  land  or  by  the  sinking  of 
the  sea  level,  and  the  surface  underwent  a  third  period  of  prolonged  erosion.  So  far  as 
now  known  the  surface  was  not  at  this  time  lifted  high  above  the  water,  and  if  the 
erosion  accomplished  was  great,  the  fact  is  not  known. 

Ordovician,  Silurian  and  Devonian  Systems.  There  is  in  the  canyon  slight,  if 
any,  representation  of  the  formations  of  the  Ordovician,  Silurian  and  Devonian  periods, 
though  strata  belonging  to  the  last  of  these  systems  are  known  to  occur  at  some  localities 
not  far  away.  The  absence  of  these  systems  may  mean  either  that  the  region  was  above 
sea  level  during  these  periods,  and  so  not  receiving  sediments,  or  that  sediments  of  these 
periods,  once  deposited,  were  afterward  removed  by  erosion  before  the  Carboniferous 
beds  were  laid  down. 

The  Carboniferous  System.  Whatever  the  condition  of  the  region  during  the 
periods  last  mentioned,  it  was  again  submerged  beneath  the  sea  in  the  Carboniferous 
period,  and  during  this  long  interval  of  time,  sediments,  primarily  sand  and  organic 
products,  such  as  shells,  coral,  etc.,  were  deposited  to  the  depth  of  more  than  2,000  feet. 
The  upper  part  of  the  existing  portion  of  this  system  constitutes  the  surface  of  the  larger 
part  of  the  present  canyon  plateau,  though  the  region  did  not  emerge  from  the  water  at 
the  end  of  this  period.  Rather  did  it  remain  submerged,  receiving  sediments  brought 
down  from  surrounding  lands  during  the  Permian,  Triassic,  Jurassic,  and  perhaps 
through  the  Cretaceous  periods. 

The  Carboniferous  formations  constitute  the  upper  half  of  the  canyon's  walls.  The 
lower  part  of  this  system  is  the  Red  Wall  formation,  conspicuous  alike  for  its  redness 
and  for  the  wall-like  face  which  it  presents.  Above  is  the  Aubrey  limestone  and  sand- 
stone, of  huffish  and  whitish  colors.  This  extends  from  the  Red  Wall  up  to  the  top  of 
the  canyon. 

The  Carboniferous  formations  of  this  region  are  notably  unlike  those  of  the  east, 
where  extensive  beds  of  coal  were  made  from  the  vegetation  of  the  great  marshes  which 
there  prevailed. 

The  Permian,  Triassic  and  Jurassic  Systems.  The  Permian  system  has  but 
slight  representation  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  canyon.  Beds  of  Permian  sedi- 
mentary rock  are  found   in  some  of  the  buttes  (Plate  IV)  of  stratified  rock  which  rise 

75 


GEOLOGY'  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


above  the  general  level  of  the  plateau.  They  have  not  always  been  differentiated  from 
the  formations  of  Triassic  age.  The  red  sandstone  quarried  at  Flagstaff  probably  belongs 
to  one  or  the  other  of  these  systems,  and  both  systems,  as  well  as  the  Jurassic,  appear  to 
the  north  and  east  of  the  canyon  region.  The  terraces  by  which  the  surface  of  the 
plateau  of  the  canyon  region  ascends  to  the  high  plateaus  to  the  north  are  made  up  in 
succession  of  Permian,  Triassic  and  Jurassic  beds.  All  these  systems  probably  once 
overlay  the  territory  through  which  the  river  now  wends  its  way. 

The  Cretaceous  System.  Cretaceous  strata  do  not  now  appear  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  canyon,  but  from  the  relations  of  these  strata  (Figs.  3  and  4)  to  the  east  and  north, 
beds  of  this  age  are  thought  by  Dutton  to  have  once  covered  the  canyon  plateau. 

The  sediments  which  make  the  formations  of  Cambrian,  Carboniferous,  Permian  and 
later  periods  all  seem  to  have  been  deposited  in  shallow  water.  Since  the  aggregate 
thickness  of  the  several  systems  from  Cambrian  to  Cretaceous  is  very  great  it  follows, 
if  the  above  conclusion  is  correct,  that  the  sea  bottom  must  have  continued  to  sink  as 
the  sediments  accumulated.  The  aggregate  subsidence  can  hardly  have  been  less  than 
two  miles,  but  such  was  the  duration  of  the  interval  during  which  it  took  place  that  the 
settling  may  have  progressed  at  an  average  rate  of  inches  per  century.  By  the  close 
of  the  Cretaceous  period  the  lower  part  of  the  Cambrian  sediments,  which  had  themselves 
been  deposited  in  shallow  water,  were  probably  as  much  as  two  miles  below  sea  level  and 
covered  to  that  depth  by  the  later  systems  already  mentioned. 

The  Eocene  System.  After  the  Cretaceous  period  the  region  seems  to  have 
emerged  from  beneath  the  sea  and  for  a  time  was  subjected  to  erosion.     A  little  later. 


Photo,  Putnam  <&  Valentine, 


steamboat  mountain. 


77 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


perhaps  as  the  result  of  warping  of  the  crust,  a  great  lake  came  into  existence  over  the 
northern  part  of  the  plateau  region,  and  possibly  over  the  whole  of  it,  though  this  has 
never  been  demonstrated.  In  this  lake,  as  in  the  seas  before,  great  thicknesses  of  sedi- 
ment brought  down  from  the  surrounding  lands  were  deposited.  That  the  sediments 
were  deposited  in  a  lake  and  not  in  the  sea,  is  shown  by  the  fossils,  which  are  remains 
of  fresh  water  organisms.  Following  the  deposition  of  these  lacustrine  sediments  in  the 
early  Eocene  period  the  lake  was  drained.  The  extinction  of  the  lake  was  perhaps  the 
result  of  uplift.  Whether  this  uplift  was  slow  or  sudden,  whether  it  was  continuous  or 
intermittent,  may  never  be  determined  with  certainty.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  it  was 
slow  rather  than  rapid,  and  that  it  was  intermittent  rather  than  continuous.  Since  that 
time  the  region  has  undergone  still  further  elevation.  First  and  last  the  uplift  of  the 
region  since  Cretaceous  time  has  probably  not  been  less  than  15,000  feet. 

THE  FIRST  GREAT  UPLIFT. 

When  the  area  of  the  Grand  Canyon  region  finally  became  land,  after  the  exclusion 
of  the  sea  and  the  drying  up  of  the  Eocene  lake,  valleys  and  streams,  taking  their  origin 
in  the  rainfall,  began  to  develop.  The  climate  of  the  region  at  that  time  seems  to  have 
been  notably  unlike  that  of  the  present,  for  rainfall  seems  to  have  been  abundant,  and  if 
so,  streams  were  more  numerous  than  now.  Following  the  habit  of  rivers  in  all  places  at 
all  times,  the  streams  of  this  time  deepened  their  valleys  until  they  were  brought  down 


Plate  IV.      A  Permian  Butte.  (Dutton.)     Taken  from  monograph  of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

78 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


nearly  to  sea  level.  Deepening  then  ceased,  but  the  valleys  of  both  main  and  tributary 
streams  continued  to  widen.  As  in  all  regions  undergoing  stream  erosion  at  the  present 
time,  the  valley  flats  became  wider  and  wider,  always  at  the  expense  of  the  intervening 
uplands,  until  they  merged  into  one  another  laterally,  thus  doing  away  with  the  high  lands 
between  (Fig.  6).  The  plane  of  erosion  developed  by  this  long  period  of  denudation 
appears  to  have  been  what  is  now  the  plateau  surface.  Some  of  the  irregularities  of  the 
plateau  surface,  such  as  Red  Butte,  show  that  the  erosion  surface  was  not  reduced  to 
perfect  planeness  at  this  time.  When  it  was  developed,  this  plane  stood  some  5,000  or 
6,000  feet  lower  than  now,  for  erosion  planes  are  developed  only  near  sea  level.  The 
erosion  plane  has  been  uplifted  to  the  extent  of  a  mile  or  more  since  its  development, 
though  the  elevation  was  accomplished  during  two  somewhat  widely  separated  periods 
of  time. 

This  great  period  of  erosion,  during  which  the  plain  which  was  to  become  the  plateau  of 
the  Grand  Canyon  was  developed,  appears  to  have  occupied  the  latter  part  of  the  Eocene, 
the  Oligocene  and  the  Miocene  periods.  The  length  of  this  time  in  years  can  only  be 
conjectured;  but,  as  in  the  case  already  referred  to,  the  duration  of  the  period  of  erosion 
must  have  been  very  long,  certainly  many  hundreds  of  thousands  and  probably  millions  of 
years.  It  was  long  enough  to  remove  completely  all  the  Eocene,  Cretaceous,  Jurassic 
and  perhaps  Triassic  beds  from  the  region,  the  greater  part  of  the  Permian,  and  some 
of  the  Carboniferous,  in  all  a  thickness  of  something  like  two  miles  of  rock,  as  nearly  as 


Cnpiiriyht.  1f>99, 
bv  H.  a.  Peabody. 


Plate  III.   View  in  the  canyon,  showing  the  great  terrace  at  the  level  of  the  Cambrian  formation. 

79 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


can  now  be  estimated.     To  allow  so  great  erosion,  the  uplift  preceding  must  have  been 
at  least  equally  great. 

THE  SECOND  UPLIFT. 

Later,  about  the  end  of  the  Miocene,  as  nearly  as  now  known,  the  erosion  plain  suf- 
fered further  elevation.  One  result  of  this  uplift  was  to  give  the  streams  greater  velocity, 
and  so  to  increase  their  erosive  power.  In  the  uplifted  plain  the  Colorado  cut  its  valley 
about  3,000  feet  below  the  plateau  level,  down  to  the  level  of  the  great  terrace  (Fig.  5) 
which  now  forms  the  upper  edge  of  the  inner  canyon.  By  the  time  this  level  had  been 
reached  the  stream  had  become  so  sluggish  that  its  downward  cutting  was  slight.  The 
valley  however,  continued  to  grow  wider.  The  result  was  the  development  of  the  outer 
canyon  of  the  Colorado,  several  miles  in  width.  This  period  of  erosion  seems  to  have 
corresponded  very  nearly  with  the  Pliocene  period. 

The  time  necessary  to  excavate  this  broad  valley  was  notably  less  than  that  needed  to 
reduce  the  earlier  surface  to  a  base-level,  but  it  was  probably  longer,  relatively,  than  might 
at  first  appear,  for  while  it  was  being  cut  the  climate  was  probably  dry  like  that  of  to-day. 
This  is  indicated  by  the   fewness  of  the  valleys  tributary  to  the  main  canyon.     Had  the 


Plate  I.      Vishnu's  Temple.      A  detail  of  erosion  in  the  Grand  Canyon. 

of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey. 

80 


Taken  from  monograph 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALISBURT. 


climate  been  humid,  tributary  valleys  would  have  been  far  more  numerous.  The  arid 
condition  seems  to  have  come  in  with  the  uplift  of  the  plain  which  had  been  developed 
by  the  close  of  the  Miocene. 

THE  THIRD  UPLIFT. 

Still  later,  about  the  close  of  the  Pliocene  period,  the  region  was  again  uplifted  to  the 
extent  of  2,000  or  3,000  feet,  and  the  river,  having  its  velocity  again  accelerated,  began 
to  cut  a  new  and  narrow  valley  in  the  bottom  of  its  older  and  wider  one.  Since  that  time 
the  river  has  made  the  inner  gorge  of  the  canyon  (Fig,  5  and  Plate  II)  1,500  to  2,000 
feet  in  depth,  and  the  downward  cutting  is  still  in  progress.  When  the  stream  shall  have 
cut  its  channel  so  low  that  its  current  becomes  sluggish,  it  will  cease  to  cut  downward,  but 
the  widening  of  the  gorge  will  still  continue. 

The  cutting  of  the  inner  gorge  has  occurred  in  times  which,  geologically  speaking,  are 
very  recent.  It  seems  to  be  the  work  of  the  closing  stages  of  the  Pliocene  and  the 
Pleistocene  periods,  and  these  periods  are  probably  much  shorter  than  any  of  the  earlier 
ones  recognized  in  the  classification. 

Faulting.  Faulting  (Fig.  i)  has  been  an  element  in  the  development  of  the  present 
topography  of  the  region.  The  faulting  appears  to  have  begun  with  the  first  great  uplift 
after  the  early  Eocene,  but  the  earlier  faulting  had  little  influence  on  present  topography. 
The  faulting  which  accompanied  the  uplift  at  the  close  of  the  Miocene  (i.  e.,  the  uplift 
which  brought  the  plain  of  erosion  into  the  position  of  a  plateau)  is  probably  the  oldest 


Photo,  Putnam  &  Valentine 


PINNACLES  AT  HEAD  OF  SHINUMO,  NORTH   SIDE  OF  CANV'ON. 
81 


GEOLOGT  OF  THE  GRAND  CANTON. 


R.  D.  SALTS  BURT. 


faulting  which  is  now  reflected  in  the  topography,  particularly  of  the  region  north  of  the 
canyon.     In  the  later  uplift,  faulting  along  the  same  lines  may  have  been  continued. 

Volcanic  Action.  The  volcanic  formations  of  the  region  are  probably  all  of  Ceno- 
zoic  age,  though  the  oldest  may  be  late  Cretaceous.  The  volcanic  forces  had  become 
active  before  the  close  of  the  Eocene,  for  volcanic  ash  is  one  of  the  constituents  of  the 
Eocene  lake  beds  north  of  the  canyon.  The  older  lava  beds,  like  that  which  caps  Red 
Butte,  seem  to  have  flowed  out  long  before  the  end  of  the  period  of  great  erosion  which 
developed  the  relatively  level  surface  of  the  plateau.  It  is  to  the  protecting  influence  of 
such  lava  beds,  which  resist  erosion  more  effectively  than  the  sedimentary  rock  of  the 
region,  that  many  remnants  of  Permian  and  Triassic  strata  owe  their  preservation. 

The  greater  extrusions  of  lava  seem  to  have  occurred  before  the  close  of  the  Miocene, 
but  volcanic  activity  continued  on  a  diminishing  scale  up  to  very  recent  time.  During 
the  later  stages  of  vulcanism  of  the  region,  the  material  ejected  seems  to  have  been  largely 
in  the  form  of  cinders  (lava  fragments)  rather  than  lava  flows.  The  youngest  of  the  lava 
flows,  as  well  as  many  of  the  cinder  cones,  are  so  fresh  that  they  must  be  thought  to 
date  from  the  Pleistocene  period. 

The  finest  of  the  recent  volcanic  cones  as  well  as  the  best  examples  of  recent  lava 
flows  are  in  the  vicinity  of  Sunset  Mountain,  within  easy  reach  of  Flagstafi\  Some  of 
them  are  so  fresh  that  they  must  date  from  the  yesterday  of  geology.  At  few  points  on 
our  continent  are  recent  volcanic  phenomena  so  well  exhibited  and  so  readily  accessible. 
From  the  top  of  Sunset  Mountain  scores  of  recent  cinder  cones  are  readily  seen,  and 
from  the  top  of  San  Francisco  Peaks,  the  most  easily  accessible  of  their  height  (nearly 
13,000  feet)  on  the  continent,  a  great  range  of  volcanic  phenomena  as  well  as  one  of  the 
most  impressive  panoramas  of  the  world  may  be  seen. 


ARIZONA  INDIANS  IN  VICINITY  OF  GRAND  CANYON. 


Photo,  W.  H.  Simpson. 


82 


NAT  M.  BRIGHAM. 


THE  WITCHERY  OF  IT  ALL. 

BY  NAT  M.  BRIG  HA  M. 

One  of  the  most  ardent  admirers  of  the  Grand  Canyon  is  the 
well-known  lecturer  on  "Strange  Corners  of  Our  Country." 
Mr.  Brigham  is  eloquent  in  his  belief  that  the  people  of  the 
East  little  realize  the  extent  and  character  of  the  scenic  wonders 
of  the  undeveloped  West. 

With  this  in  view  he  began  lecturing  five  years  ago.  Many 
critics  esteem  him  a  worthy  successor  of  Stoddard  in  the  travel- 
lecture  field.  His  repertoire  includes:  "The  Grand  Canyon  of 
Arizona,"  "The  Land  of  the  Snake  Dance,"  "The  Apache 
Warpath,"  and  "Coronado  to  Kit  Carson." 

By  permission  of  Mr.  Brigham,  we  insert  the  following 
extracts  from  his  deservedly  popular  lecture  on  the  Grand 
Canyon: 


IT  SLEEPS  AND  DREAMS. 

lUT  you  should  look  upon  its  glories  when  the  moonlight  falls  upon  the  wait- 
ing earth.  How  that  old  canyon  sleeps  and  dreams!  Even  the  life  that 
seemed  to  pulse  across  the  dreary  wastes  at  noonday  is  still.  The  tumbling 
river  subsides.  The  miles  on  miles  of  mighty  cliffs  sleep,  and  sleep  again. 
Shadowy  types  of  temples,  weird  and  ancient — huge  altars,  wrapped  in  mystic 
trappings,  fantastic  groupings — start  into  life.  Niches  and  corners  which  by  day  were 
bare  and  meaningless,  now  hold  figures  that  startle  you.  River  and  mountain,  cliff  and 
wall  are  lifted  into  glory,  and  this  whole  vast  upland,  which  by  day  may  have  repelled  you 
because  of  the  agony  of  the  ages,  now  lies  in  dreamful  slumber,  pure,  white  and  still  as  a 
nun  at  her  prayers,  and  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  you  may  behold  this  whole  stupendous 
waste  lifted  into  a  glory  like  unto  the  glory  of  paradise.      *      '''      * 

The  question  often  comes — Are  not  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  crimson  of  the  rock,  the 

amber  of  the* clouds  intensified  in  these  color  views?     My  answer  is — Who  but  God 

could  paint  the  sky,  could  stain  the  rock,  could  hold  the  amber  giants  swinging  in  the  air? 

A  thousand  times  have  I  heard  the  beholder  exclaim:     "No  tongue  can  describe  it." 

Am  I  myself  unduly  moved?     Possibly.      But  I  love  nature.     She  has  not  a  mood 


OLD  CAMP  OF  FOREST  RANGER  AT  ROWE  S  WELLS. 


83 


THE  WITCHERT  OF  IT  ALL. 


NAT  M.  BRIGHAM. 


that  does  not  woo  me.  From  •  boyhood  the  scent  of  the  violet  would  disquiet  me.  The 
odor  of  our  New  England  mayflower  would  summon  up  an  endless  trail  of  holiest 
memories.  The  silence  and  scent  of  the  deep  wildwood  would  thrill  me  deeper  than 
any  strain  of  music. 

You  could  not  dream  then  how  this  labyrinth  of  chasms  allured  me — its  unfathom- 
able shadows,  moving  in  resistless  majesty;  its  amphitheaters  swelling  out,  until  in  fancy 
they  are  peopled  with  form  of  temple  and  tower  and  town;  the  illusive  haze  that  cloaks 
its  myriad  peaks;  the  royal  purple  of  its  shadows;  its  miles  of  color  bands,  and  every  band 
an  age;  its  mile-deep  walls,  red  with  a  passion  sublime,  reaching  from  this  puny  age  of 
ours  back  to  that  mystic  period  when  the  waiting  earth  first  quickened  in  the  throbbing 
womb  of  time.  The  miracle  of  a  sunrise  that  floods  the  unanswering  wastes  until  the  far 
reaching  line  of  cliff^s  seems  floating  in  the  rising  tide  of  a  crimson  sea.  The  carnage  of  a 
sunset  that  with  blood-red  banners  marches  resistless  over  the  ruined  wastes  of  cities  until 
the  distant  watch  towers  flash  defiance,  then  signal  defeat,  then  sink  back  into  the  night, 
until  the  far-flung  line  of  battlements  goes  down  in  the  unequal  struggle  and  this  great 
underworld  grows  black  in  sullen  wonder. 

The  witchery  of  a  night  that  tips  with  unearthly  light  the  slowly  emerging  forms 
you  have  known  by  day,  bringing  within  hailing  distance  the  dim  outlines  of  the 
thither  rim;  the  night  that  consorts  with  the  very  clouds  of  heaven  to  bring  a  mimic 
sky  to  earth;  the  night  that  woos  the  sighing  pine  and  the  bending  stars;  the  night  that 
bids  the  crescent  moon  bend  low  to  bid  you  wait  her  fullness,  what  time  in  full-orbed 
splendor  she  swings  resistless  above  this  world-old  scene,  until  in  fancy  your  vision 
sweeps  the  fields  where  the  nations  of  the  earth  have  bivouacked,  folded  in  such  deep 
silence  that  neither  the  morning  sun  nor  the  trumpeter  of  God  could  rouse  them  from 
their  lethal  slumber.     The  infinite  hush  of  it  all!     The  mirage  of  the  City  Celestial! 


JOHN   HANCE  S  OLD  LOG  CABIN, 


Photi,,  If.  //.  >,»i;... 


84 


AMERICAN  ART  AND  AMERICAN  SCENERY. 

BY  THOMAS  MORAN. 

Thomas  Moran,  the  great  artist,  is  now  sixty-eight  years  old. 
Ever  since  his  first  trip  to  Europe,  in  1862,  he  has  held  a  com- 
manding position  among  American  landscape  painters  and 
etchers.  He  is  to-day,  in  his  studio  at  Easthampton,  Long 
Island,  busy  with  new  pictures  which  are  as  powerful  and  as 
charming  in  form  and  color  as  any  of  his  earlier  successes. 

Mr.  Moran  has  perhaps  achieved  his  most  notable  triumphs 
with  American  subjects — particularly  Rocky  Mountain  scenery. 
Two  of  his  masterpieces,  The  Yellowstone  Canyon,  and  The 
Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona,  are  hung  in  the  national  capitol  at 
Washington. 

In  the  earlysummer  of  1 901, accompanied  by  Geo.  Inness,  Jr., 
and  Geo.  H.  McCord,  he   revisited   the   Grand   Canyon.     An 

article  written  shortly  after  that  memorable  trip  is  first  printed  herein.     The  topic — 

"America  for  Americans" — is  a  favorite  one  with  him. 


THOMAS   MORAN. 


tkioto,  W,  H,  Simpsun. 


JOHN    HAXCE,  THOS.  MORAN,   GEO.  INNESS,  JR.,  AND  G.  H.  M  CORD. 
85 


AMERICAN  ART  AND  AMERICAN  SCENERT.     THOS.  MO  RAN. 

T  has  often  occurred  to  me  as  a  curious  and  anomalous  fact,  that  American 
artists  are  prone  to  seek  the  subjects  for  their  art  in  foreign  lands,  to  the  almost 
entire  exclusion  of  their  own. 

This  disposition  is,  perhaps,  attributable  to  a  prevailing  idea  that  to  reach 
and  see  the  pictorial  wealth  of  the  far  southwest,  involves  much  time,  hardship, 
expense,  and  above  all,  dangers  that  do  not  really  exist;  for  it  is  easier  in  every  way  to 
visit  this  land  of  color,  sunshine  and  magnificent  scenery  than  to  go  to  Europe,  and 
much  more  comfortable  traveling. 

Another  reason  alleged  by  many  artists  why  our  own  great  country  has  been  neglected 
is,  that  the  grand  in  nature  is  not  paintable;  that  is,  not  suited  to  pictorial  representation. 
This  idea  is,  I  think,  due  to  the  influence  of  foreign  teaching,  especially  of  the  French 
school,  where  most  of  our  American  art  students  receive  their  training. 

This  school  of  painting,  in  landscape,  has  never  aimed  at  anything  beyond  what 
might  be  called  the  pastoral;  that  is,  a  quiet  poplar-lined  riverside,  or  a  bit  of  swampy 
ground  reflecting  a  few  trees  under  the  gray  and  colorless  skies  of  their  country. 

This  pastoral  landscape  seems  to  have  satisfied  the  ambition  of  their  best  painters; 
and  perhaps  it  could  not  be  otherwise,  as  men  will  paint  best  that  which  they  know  best 
and  are  most  in  sympathy  with. 

NATIONALISM  IN  ART. 

That  there  is  a  nationalism  in  art  needs  no  proof.  It  is  bred  from  a  knowledge  of 
and  sympathy  with  their  surroundings,  and  no  foreigner  can  imbue  himself  with  the 
spirit  of  a  country  not  his  own.     Therefore  he  should  paint  his  own  land. 

The  English  have  painted  England  as  nobody  but  an  Englishman  could.  The  same 
can  be  said  of  the  French,  the  Dutch,  the  Spanish,  and  so  on. 

Our  countrymen  seem  to  ignore  this  fact.  They  go  abroad  to  study  and  return 
laden  with  the  foreign  idea,  and  unthinkingly  settle  down  to  imitating  as  near  as  they  can 
the  subjects,  style  and  method  of  their  masters.  Instead  of  seeking  their  subjects  and 
inspiration  in  their  own  land  and  applying  their  technical  skill  in  the  production  of  works 
national  in  character,  they  seem  to  devote  themselves  to  imitations  of  foreign  masters, 
and  many  even  find  it  necessary  to  make  occasional  trips  abroad  to  lay  in  a  fresh  stock 
of  ideas  for  imitation. 

Before  America  can  pretend  to  a  position  in  the  world  of  art  it  will  have  to  prove  it, 
through  a  characteristic  nationality  in  its  art,  and  our  artists  can  only  do  this  by  painting 
their  own  country,  making  use  of  all  the  technical  skill  and  knowledge  they  may  have 
acquired  in  the  schools  of  Europe  and  the  study  of  the  art  of  the  past. 

I  have  been  led  to  these  reflections  through  my  familiarity  with  the  scenery  of  our 
own  unrivaled  country  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  There  is  no  phase  of 
landscape  in  which  we  are  not  richer,  more  varied  and  interesting  than  any  country  in 
the  world. 

ARTISTIC  FUTURE  OF  AMERICANS. 

On  a  recent  visit  to  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  I  was  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  the  future  of  American  art  lies  in  being  true  to  our  own  country,  in  the  interpreta- 
tion of  that  beautiful  and  glorious  scenery  with  which  nature  has  so  lavishly  endowed 
our  land. 

86 


AMERICAN  ART  AND  AMERICAN  SCENERT.     THOS.  MORAN. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  undertake  any  description  of  this  awe  inspiring  and  exqui- 
sitely beautiful  gorge,  a  whole  country  in  itself.  That  has  been  done  by  many  writers, 
notably  by  Mr.  C.  A.  Higgins,  whose  word  picture  of  the  great  canyon  is  a  poem,  and 
to  my  thinking  the  best  that  has  been  written.  Of  all  places  on  earth  the  great 
canyon  of  Arizona  is  the  most  inspiring  in  its  pictorial  possibilities. 

My  chief  desire  is  to  call  the  attention  of  American  landscape  painters  to  the 
unlimited  field  for  the  exercise  of  their  talents  to  be  found  in  this  enchanting  south- 
western country;  a  country  flooded  with  color  and  picturesqueness,  offering  everything  to 
inspire  the  artist,  and  stimulate  him  to  the  production  of  works  of  lasting  interest  and  value. 

This  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona,  and  all  the  country  surrounding  it,  offers  a  new  and 
comparatively  untrodden  field  for  pictorial  interpretation,  and  only  awaits  the  men  of 
original  thoughts  and  ideas  to  prove  to  their  countrymen  that  we  possess  a  land  of  beauty 
and  grandeur  with  which  no  other  can  compare.  The  pastoral  painter,  the  painter  of 
picturesque  genre,  the  imaginative  and  dramatic  landscapist  are  here  offered  all  that  can 
delight  the  eye,  or  stir  the  imagination  and  emotions. 

With  truth  and  perceptions  of  a  poet,  Mr.  Higgins  has  described  the  canyon  as 
"An  inferno  swathed  in  soft  celestial  fires,  unflinchingly  real,  yet  spectral  as  a  dream.  It  is 
the  soul  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  of  Beethoven." 

Its  forests  of  cedar  and  pine  interspersed  with  aspens  and  dwarfish  oak  are  weird  in 
the  extreme;  its  tremendous  architecture  fills  one  with  wonder  and  admiration,  and  its 
color,  forms  and  atmosphere  are  so  ravishingly  beautiful,  that,  however  well  traveled  one 
may  be,  a  new  world  is  opened  to  him  when  he  gazes  into  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona. 


Photo,  U.  WluL. 


U.  S.  INDIAN  AGENCY  IN  CATARACT  L. 


87 


DAVID   STARR   JORDAN. 


rHE  LAND  OF  PATIENCE. 

BY  PRESIDENT  DA  VID  STARR  JORDAN. 

Several  seasons  ago  a  company  of  California  educators,  under 
the  lead  of  Charles  F.  Lummis,  editor  of  "Out  West,"  visited 
the  Grand  Canyon  by  way  of  Flagstaff.  One  of  the  members 
thereof  was  Dr.  David  Starr  Jordan,  President  of  Stanford 
University. 

He  published  a  brief  account  of  the  trip  in  Mr.  Lummis' 
magazine,  taking  as  his  theme  the  novel  one  of  the  infinite  lazi- 
ness of  this  corner  of  the  world. 

A  deep  student  of  nature.  President  Jordan  is  not  a  man  to 
be  carried  away  or  unduly  impressed  by  any  of  her  strange 
workings,  and  his  calm  analysis  of  the  greatest  work  of  erosion 
is  of  special  interest.  His  impressions  are  submitted  as  the 
latest  word  of  a  busy  man  on  a  big  theme : 


THE  OLD  REPOSE. 

OT  its  grandeur  and  beauty,  its  weird  magnificence,  its   sublime  supremacy; 

all  the  world  knows  this.     But  it  impressed  me  not  the  less  through  its  infinite 

laziness. 

While  the  rest  of  the  earth's  crust  has  been  making  history  and  scenery 

with  all   the  great  earth-molding  forces  steadily  at  work,  this  corner  of  the 
world  for  ten  thousand  centuries  and  more  has  rested  in  the  sun. 

While  mountains  were  folding  and  continents  taking  form,  this  land  of  patience  lay 
beneath  a  warm  and  shallow  sea,  the  extension  of  the  present  Gulf  of  California.  For 
centuries  untold  its  sands  piled  up  layer  on  layer. 

When  at  last  the  uplift  of  the  Sierras  changed  the  sands  to  dry  land,  then  the  forces 
of  erosion  began  and  the  sands  were  torn  away  as  sleepily  as  they  had  been  deposited 
before.  A  mile  or  two  in  vertical  depth  had  been  stripped  away  from  the  whole  surface, 
leaving  only  flat-topped  buttes  here  and  there  to  testify  to  the  depth  of  the  ancient  strata. 
The  flinty  limestones  half-way  down  interposed  their  resistance.  The  swift  river  from 
the  glacial  mountains  which  had  done  this  work  narrowed  its  bounds  and  applied  itself 
more  strictly  to  its  business.  Cutting  at  last  through  the  flinty  stone,  it  made  quick  work 
of  the  shales  beneath  it,  and  dropping  swiftly  from  level  to  level,  it  is  now  at  work  on  the 
granite  core  of  the  earth  at  the  bottom. 

THE  RIVER  WORKED  ALONE. 

Even  in  this  it  has  made  fair  progress,  but  the  river  has  done  all  this  alone. 

No  ice,  nor  frost,  nor  earthquake,  nor  volcanic  force  has  left  its  mark  on  the  canyon. 

Ice  would  have  made  a  lake  of  it.  Frosts  would  have  changed  its  cliffs  to  slopes. 
Earthquakes  would  have  crumbled  its  walls,  and  volcanoes  would  have  smeared  them 
with  lava.     But  none  of  these  forces  came  to  mar  or  help. 

In  the  simplest,  easiest  and  laziest  fashion  rocks  were  deposited  in  the  first  place.  In 
the  simplest,  easiest  and  laziest  fashion  they  have  been  torn  up  again,  and  a  view  from 
the  canyon  rim  almost  anywhere  shows  at  a  glance  how  it  was  all  done. 

88 


CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER. 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  rHE  CANTON 

BY  CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER. 

In  the  popular  travel  book  written  by  the  beloved  American 
author,  Charles  Dudley  Warner,  entitled  "Our  Italy"  (published 
and  copyright,  1892,  by  Harper  &  Brothers'),  occurs  a  chapter 
on  the   Grand  Canyon. 

Mr.  Warner  visited  Arizona  on  his  way  to  California  a 
decade  ago.  He  ventured  the  long  ride  from  Flagstaff  and 
achieved  the  rare  distinction  of  being  the  first  noted  American 
author  to  tell  the  world  about  the  greatest  thing  in  it.  By  per- 
mission of  the  publishers  a  few  extracts  from  his  canyon  article 
are  appended.  They  reveal,  as  do  Mr.  Warner's  other  writings, 
a  scholarly  temperament  keenly  appreciative  of  Nature's  handi- 
work and  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  subtle  charm  of  scenery 
like  that  of  our  southwestern  wonderland. 

He  says: 


THE  MAGNIFICENCE  OF  IT. 

HE  whole  magnificence  broke  upon  us.  No  one  could  be  prepared  for  it. 
The  scene  is  one  to  strike  dumb  with  awe  or  to  unstring  the  nerves;  one 
might  stand  in  silent  astonishment,  another  would  burst  into  tears. 

There  are  some  experiences  that  cannot  be  repeated — one's  first  view  of 
Rome,  one's  first  view  of  Jerusalem.  But  those  emotions  are  produced  by 
association,  by  the  sudden  standing  face  to  face  with  the  scenes  most  wrought  into  our 
whole  life  and  education  by  tradition  and  religion.  This  was  without  association  as  it  was 
without  parallel.  It  was  a  shock  so  novel  that  the  mind,  dazed,  quite  failed  to  com- 
prehend it.  All  that  we  could  grasp  was  a  vast  confusion  of  amphitheaters  and  strange 
architectural  forms  resplendent  with  color.  The  vastness  of  the  view  amazed  us  quite 
as  much  as  its  transcendent  beauty.     *     *     =;= 

Turning  suddenly  to  the  scene  from  another  point  of  view,  I  experienced  for  a 
moment  an  indescribable  terror  of  nature,  a  confusion  of  mind,  a  fear  to  be  alone  in  such 
a  presence.  With  all  this  grotesqueness  and  majesty  of  form  and  radiance  of  color, 
creation  seemed  in  a  whirl.     *     *     * 


CITY  OF  THE  IMAGINATION. 

I  was  continually  likening  this  to  a  vast  city  rather  than  a  landscape,  but  it  was  a  city 
of  no  man's  creation  nor  of  any  man's  conception.  In  the  visions  which  inspired  or 
crazy  painters  have  had  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  of  Babylon  the  Great,  of  a  heaven  in  the 
atmosphere  with  endless  perspective  of  towers  and  steeps  that  hang  in  the  twilight  sky, 
the  imagination  has  tried  to  reach  this  reality.  But  here  are  effects  beyond  the  artist, 
forms  the  architect  has  not  hinted  at.    *    *    *     It  is  a  city,  but  a  city  of  the  imagination. 

It  was  long  before  I  could  comprehend  the  vastness  of  the  view,  see  the  enormous 
chasms  and  rents  and  seams,  and  the  many  architectural  ranges  separated  by  great  gulfs 
between  me  and  the  wall  of  the  mesa  twelve  miles  distant.  *  *  *  An  adequate 
Niagara  here  should  be  at  least  three  miles  in  breadth  and  fall  2,000  feet  over  one  of 
these  walls.     And  the  Yosemite,  ah!  the  lovely  Yosemite!     Dumped  down  into  this 

89 


ON  THE  BRINK  OF  THE  CANTON. C.  D.  WARNER. 

wilderness  of  gorges  and  mountains  it  would  take  a  guide  who  knew  its  existence  a  long 
time  to  find  it.     *     *     * 

It  reverses  mountaineering  to  descend  6,000  feet  for  a  view,  and  there  is  a  certain 
pleasure  standing  on  a  mountain  summit  without  the  trouble  of  climbing  it.  *  *  * 
It  is  a  great  innovation  in  the  modern  ideas  of  scenery.  To  the  eye  educated  to  any 
other  it  may  be  shocking,  grotesque,  incomprehensible;  but  those  who  have  long  and 
carefully  studied  the  Grand  Canyon  do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  it  by  far  the  most  sub- 
lime of  all  earthly  spectacles.     *     *     * 

The  reader  will  find  the  story  of  the  making  of  the  Grand  Canyon  more  fascinating 
than  any  romance.  Without  knowing  this  story,  the  impression  that  one  has  in  looking 
on  this  scene  is  that  of  immense  antiquity,  hardly  anywhere  else  on  earth  so  overwhelm- 
ing as  here.  It  has  been  here  in  all  its  lovely  grandeur  and  transcendent  beauty,  exactly 
as  it  is,  for  what  to  us  is  an  eternity,  unknown,  unseen  by  human  eye.  '^'  *  '^  It  is 
only  within  a  quarter  of  a  century  that  the  Grand  Canyon  has  been  known  to  the  civi- 
lized world.  It  is  scarcely  known  now.  It  is  a  world  largely  unexplored.  Those  who 
best  know  it  are  most  sensitive  to  its  awe  and  splendor.  It  is  never  twice  the  same. 
*  *  *  Travelers  from  the  wide  world  will  flock  thither,  for  there  is  revealed  the 
long-kept  secret,  the  unique  achievement  of  nature. 


RUINS  OF  CLIFF  DWELLINGS,  WALNUT  CANYON,  ARIZONA. 

90 


Photo,  O.  L.  lit 


A  RHAPSODY  BY  ''FITZ-MAC" 


FITZ-JAMES  MACCARTHY. 


At  Colorado  Springs,  in  the  shadow  of  Pike's  Peak,  lives  a 
man  who  writes  short  tales  of  the  West  under  the  pen  name 
of  "Fitz-Mac" — made  from  the  first  part  of  each  of  his  names. 

He  likes  a  story  and  can  tell  one  well.     His  style  is  irresist- . 
ibly  free;  his  writings   bright,  breezy  and   buoyant.     He   is  a 
"past   master"  in   word    painting,  and  in  his  romances  of  the 
Rockies  gets  close  to  Nature. 

By  profession  Mr.  MacCarthy  is  a  journalist.  Writing  one 
June  day  from  the  Grand  Canyon  to  his  home  paper,  the  Colo- 
rado Springs  Gazette,  he  opened  up  his  own  heart  and  laid  bare 
some  of  those  personal  impressions  which  come  to  us  all,  but 
which  are  elusive  and  rarely  coined  into  words.  His  letter  is  a 
careful  study  of  the  emotions  which  this  abysmal  chasm  produces: 


A  GEOLOGICAL  APOCALYPSE. 

HIS  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  is  the  most  stupendous  and  astounding  of  all 
the  natural  wonders  of  the  earth — and  of  all  earth's  natural  wonders  the  latest 
and  the  least  known. 

It  is  a  geological  apocalypse,  half  mystery  and  half  revelation. 
It  is  at  once  the  most  awful  and  the  most  irresistible  thing  I  have  ever 
beheld.  It  is  a  paradox  of  chaos  and  repose,  of  gloom  and  radiance,  of  immeasurable 
desolation  and  enthralling  beauty.  It  is  a  despair  and  a  joy;  a  woe  and  an  ecstasy;  a 
requiem  and  a  hallelujah;  a  world-ruin  and  a  world-glory — everything  in  antithesis  of 
such  titanic  sort. 

Grotesque  architectural  forms  (ancient  water-carvings),  hundreds  of  miles  of  them, 
loom  gigantic  and  phantasmal  through  the  half-concealing,  half-revealing  veil  of  chromatic 
mist  that  hangs  upon  the  stupendous  spectacle.  It  is  Nature  with  her  flesh  cast  off  reclin- 
ing in  her  bones  with  a  drapery  of  rainbows  and  smiling  at  Time  and  Death,  puissant 
enemies  of  man's  inquisitiveness  and  divine  ambition.  Yet  it  is  only  a  chasm  in  this  wide, 
mid-mountain  desert,  or  semi-desert,  of  Utah  and  Arizona — a  chasm  as  crooked  as  a 
raveled  thread  of  yarn  and  seven  hundred  miles  long  in  zigzag  measurement.  And  in  that 
chasm,  more  than  a  perpendicular  mile  below  the  rim  of  the  plain  from  which  we  glimpse 
its  shining  surface  as  a  mere  ribbon  of  water  in  the  far  and  deep  perspective,  is  a  surging, 
plunging,  grinding  river,  deep  enough  to  be  navigated  a  thousand  miles  but  for  the  rocky 
rapids  and  plunging  cataracts  that  obstruct — a  river  whose  ancient  banks  it  is  thirteen 
miles  between,  and  through  whose  channel  a  rising  continent  slowly  poured  the  waters  of 
a  vast  inland  sea  which  covered  "the  great  basin"  of  Utah,  lower  Idaho,  Nevada  and 
part  of  Colorado  some  millions  of  years  ago. 

Between  those  far-echoing  banks,  all  the  phantasmal  forms  of  rock  mentioned  before, 
carved  by  the  rushing,  sand-laden  waters — towers,  domes  and  columns  titanic,  based  in 
the  abyss,  carved  from  the  top  downward,  through  thousands  of  feet  of  soft  or  vitreous 
sandstones,  through  thousands  more  of  marbleized  limes,  through  other  thousands  (or 
perhaps  only  hundreds)  of  adamantine  granites.  And  the  massive  colors  radiating  from 
these  rocks  as  heat  radiates,  and  blending  in  the  silent,  lonesome  atmosphere  of  the  desert 
and  the  abyss  into  a  very  miracle  of  chromatic  glory — what  an  unparalleled  spectacle! 

91 


A  RHAPSODY. ''FITZ-MACr 

Oh,  the  awful  grandeur  of  it !  Oh,  the  unique,  the  fearful,  the  mysterious,  the  irresistible 
charm !  It  is  a  spectacle  that  speaks  to  the  soul  of  the  sensitive  and  enlightened  beholder 
with  the  tongues  of  a  million — of  multi-million — years. 

A  THOUGHT-COMPELLING  SCENE. 

What  a  thought-compelling  scene !  What  a  commentary  on  time  and  motion  and 
the  patient,  resistless  will  of  world-forming  nature !  A  few  inches — not  many  certainly — 
has  this  river  of  the  desert  by  the  suave  but  ceaseless  grinding  of  its  waters,  lowered  its 
bed  in  the  adamantine  granite  since  that  yesterday,  four  thousand  years  or  more  ago, 
when  the  Ptolemies  were  building  their  pyramid-tombs  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile;  and 
yet  a  thousand  millions  of  Ptolemy-tombs  would  not  fill  ten  miles  of  this  abyss !  But 
Time  is  Nature's  servant  while  man  is  Time's. 

Shrive  yourself,  oh  gabbling  and  exclamatory  seeker  of  wonders;  smite  your  breast 
with  the  clinched  hand  and  cry  Peccavi!  Peccavi!  oh,  ye  wearied  and  wearisome  trotters 
of  the  round  and  wondrous  globe,  if  hither  ye  are  coming  to  bathe  your  fretted  and 
satiated  spirits  in  the  red  and  yellow  silences  of  this  abysmal  scene.  Shrive  yourselves, 
ere  you  approach,  of  all  your  little,  vainglorious  conceits,  of  all  your  pretty,  gabbling, 
rhetorical  formulas  of  exclamatory  ecstasy.  They  have  served  you  well  enough,  no 
doubt,  to  voice  the  whole  gamut  of  your  delight,  surprise  and  amazement  in  the  presence 
of  such  noble  and  pleasing  wonders  as  Niagara,  Yosemite,  Yellowstone,  or  even  the  Alps; 
but  such  safe  and  well-authorized  exclamations  as  "magnificent,"  "grand,"  "sublime," 
have  only  a  puny  and  altogether  inadequate  relation  to  the  emotions  that  will  be  stirred 
within  you  by  the  appalling  grandeurs  of  this  stupendous  chasm.  Here  such  rhapsodi- 
cal exclamations  do  not  fit.  They  will  not  half  go  round  the  girth  of  your  amazement. 
They  are  altogether  inadequate,  and  if  you  utter  them  they  will  sound  even  to  your  own 
ears  petty  and  almost  meaningless.  If  you  be  only  the  common-place,  amiable,  chatter- 
ing, inquisitive  globe-trotter  and  searcher-out  of  wonders,  pause  as  you  approach  and 
remove  the  sandals  from  your  feet  as  one  who  hath  sinned  goeth  up  into  the  holy  places 
of  the  Lord  seeking  absolution.  For  you  have  sinned,  oh,  amiable  globe-trotter,  by 
rashly  denying  the  power  of  nature  to  surprise  you  again;  to  astonish,  to  amaze,  to  thrill, 
to  overawe,  to  subdue  and  reduce  to  silence  your  puerile,  self-deceiving,  exclamatory 
ecstasy  by  the  tragic  spectacle  of  devastation  immeasureable,  and  by  the  bewildering 
mystery  of  splendors  unique,  resistless  and  overwhelming  which  Chaos  hath  wrought 
and  here  hidden  away  in  the  bosom  of  this  wide,  mid-mountain  desert. 

ITS  VASTNESS. 

Here  you  might  lose  a  hundred  Yosemites  and  never  be  able  to  find  them  again. 
Here  a  dozen  Niagaras  would  form  but  minor  details  in  the  stupendous  scene.  You 
might  scatter  the  whole  mass  of  the  Alps  through  the  300  miles  of  this  abysmal  chasm 
in  Arizona  without  filling  it  up — 700  miles  in  total  length,  but  not  throughout  of  such 
sublimity  as  here. 

Who  can  adequately  describe  the  scene? — who  can  describe  the  indescribable? 

In  its  stupendous  ensemble  the  spectacle  is  too  vast  for  art.  It  is  indeed  almost  too 
much  for  human  thought.  You  cannot  behold  it  for  the  first  time  without  a  gasp,  how- 
ever blase  your  emotions  have  become  by  globe-trotting.  There  is  a  spirit  of  cosmic 
tragedy,  of  divine  woe,  in  the  scene  which  sends  a  diffused  pain  through  the  emotions 

92 


A  RHAPSODT. 


"FITZ-MACr 


while  yet  you  are  enraptured  by  its  beauty.  And  the  sublime  pathos  in  it  all,  no  art,  I 
think,  can  touch — or  scarcely  touch,  for  on  reflection  I  am  not  sure  but  Moran's  noble 
picture  does  strongly  suggest  it.  It  is  this  divine  woe  in  the  scene  that  presses  the 
unconscious  sob  from  your  breast,  you  know  not  why,  as  you  gaze. 

IN  NEED  OF  SYMPATHY. 

It  is  not  the  matchless  immensity  of  it,  I  think,  that  overcomes  you,  but  that  your 
senses  cannot  quite  encompass  and  analyze  its  unique  and  elusive  quality.  This  great 
impassive  thing  that  frightens  you  by  its  appalling  immensity,  that  enthralls  your  imag- 
ination by  the  magic  of  its  matchless  beauty,  that  bewilders  and  mystifies  your  senses  by 
the  vague  suggestion  of  fragrance  and  melody  in  its  gorgeous  purples,  and  by  the  vast, 
echoless  silences  of  its  Pompeiian  reds  and  yellows,  is  inexorable  and  unresponsive  to 
your  puny  emotions.  That  is  what  fills  you  with  a  nameless  longing,  a  divine  regret. 
That  is  what  makes  you  sob  unconsciously  as  you  gaze  off  into  the  abysmal,  chromatic 
splendors  of  the  scene.  Your  soul  hungers  for  a  sympathy  which  the  great  spectacle  is 
too  impassive,  too  inexorable,  to  yield.  The  inexorable  always  affects  us  like  that  in  our 
psychic  moods.  The  generous  mind  receives  always  a  sensation  of  diffused  pain  from 
any  spectacle  or  any  emotion  that  baffles  complete  expression,  and  the  divine  pathos  of 
this  is  as  undefinable,  as  inexorable,  v.s  resistless  as  death — and  as  lovely  as  the  hope  of 
life  everlasting. 

Is  it  the  sympathy  of  one  sense  with  another  (it  must  be  that)  which  beguiles  the 
reason  into  belief  that  the  colors  in  this  ravishing,  chromatic  maze  are  endued  with  the 
magic  of  melody  and  odor?  This  is  something  not  to  be  insisted  on,  nor  denied;  you 
feel  it  or  (for  you)  it  is  not  so.  Of  course  if  you  are  hopelessly  sane  you  do  not  feel 
anything  of  the  kind. 

THE  WORLD'S   SUBLIMEST  TRAGEDY. 

It  behooves  you,  oh,  you  of  the  soulless  kodak  and  the  loquacious  guide-book,  to 
come  meekly  and  with  bared  feet  into  the  presence  of  this  wonder  that  dwarfs  all  other 
wonders  of  the  world,  for  it  is  here  and  not  elsewhere  that  Nature  has  done  her  utter- 
most; here  a  world's  sublimest  tragedy  was  enacted — is  still  enacting  with  all  scenes  set; 
a  tableau  vivant,  a  glorified  despair,  a  divine  woe;  gorgeous,  mysterious  and  abysmal; 
a  triumph  of  chaos  and  devastation ;  yet  not  ghastly  and  forbidding,  strange  to  say,  but 


THROUGH  THE  PINES,  FLAGSTAFF  TO  WALNUT  CANYON. 

94 


A  RHAPSODT. '*FITZ-MACr 

fascinating,  for  this  imperial  tragedy  is  not  set  amidst  ignoble  and  plebeian  scenes,  but  is 
draped  and  curtained  with  all  the  massive  and  imposing  dignity  of  Pompeiian  reds  and 
yellows;  with  all  the  imperial  magnificence  of  the  Tyrian  purple;  with  all  the  gorgeous 
splendors  of  orange  hues  vanishing  into  violet,  that  go  with  a  tropical  sunset;  with 
amber-greenish  lights  that  belong  to  the  creeping  break  of  dawn — and  all  these,  the 
massive,  the  gorgeous,  the  magnificent,  the  sensuous,  the  brilliant,  the  mellow,  the  tender, 
swept  and  swirled  by  great  Nature's  unerring  brush  into  a  ravishing,  harmonious,  chro- 
matic revelation  that  bursts  upon  the  view  with  an  effect  as  if  the  skies  had  opened  and 
all  the  choirs  of  heaven  had  broken  into  a  grand  and  joyful  overture,  an  allegro  through 
which  runs  a  vague  but  penetrating  minor  chord  of  woe. 

MORAN'S  INTERPRETATION. 

Hither,  to  this  point  of  the  chasm  whence  I  am  writing,  long  ago  came  Thomas  Moran, 
the  painter,  and  painted  for  the  people  of  the  United  States  that  great  scene  which  hangs 
in  the  capitol,  and  which  only  a  few  can  as  yet  appreciate — the  few  who  have  beheld  the 
wonderful  spectacle.  All  others  are  bound  to  regard  it  as  a  luxurious  lotus-dream  of 
color  and  mystery. 

Moran's  great  picture  tells  the  truth  as  one  sees  the  truth,  gazing  upon  the  scene 
with  the  poet's  eyes  and  feeling  its  frightful  grandeur  with  a  poet's  soul.  Any  other 
conception  of  it  is  worse  than  nothing — measurements,  calculations,  note-book  loquacity, 
kodak  mementos,  all  these  vulgarize  the  impression  of  a  thing  too  stupendous  and  too 
completely  unique  to  furnish  the  mind  with  any  direct  and  definite  expression;  and  no 
one,  save  only  Moran — certainly  no  artist  of  the  pen — has  found  even  approximate 
expression  for  the  unique  splendors,  the  fascination  and  the  awe  of  this  unparalleled  scene. 

But  for  a  truth  the  finest  effects  here  are  altogether  uncommunicable  by  brush  or 
pen.  They  give  themselves  up  only  to  the  personal  presence,  and  no  painter  or  writer 
can  do  more  than  suggest  what  they  are  by  indicating  how  they  make  him  feel.  You 
cannot  paint  a  silence,  nor  a  sound,  nor  an  odor,  nor  an  emotion,  nor  a  sob.  If  you  are 
skillful  you  may  suggest  them  to  the  imagination  but  that  is  all,  and  Moran's  fine  picture 
does  that  admirably.  It  gives  one  sublime  glimpse  of  that  mysterious  and  abysmal 
repose,  one  irresistible  suggestion  of  those  vast  and  sublime  silences,  one  amazing  flash 
of  that  marvelous  scheme  of  color,  suggesting  melody  and  fragrance.  And  that  is  all 
which  human  skill  can  convey  by  brush  or  pen. 

This  is  certainly  no  scene  to  be  boggled  by  your  sign-painting  blockhead  of  an  artist, 
with  complacent  reliance  on  his  compasses  and  perspective  scale,  and  paint  pot  and 
palette.  There  is  a  great  tragic  soul  in  the  scene,  which  the  soul  in  the  artist  must  clasp 
or  fail  utterly. 

NO  PLACE  FOR  RHETORIC. 

And  as  for  the  gifted  space-writer — well,  everything  can  be  forgiven  in  this  over- 
whelming presence  except  rhetoric.  Here,  where  anguish  struggles  against  joy  for  the  soul 
of  the  beholder,  rhetoric  is  worse  than  a  mockery  of  the  thoughts  incommunicable  that 
surge  through  the  mind — here,  by  this  deep  pre-Egyptian  grave  of  Nature's  patient 
digging,  gorgeous,  mysterious  and  solemn,  where  Time,  the  mother  of  worlds,  has  sep- 
ulchered  her  dead  children,  the  centuries  and  millenniums  of  the  past — here,  where  winds 
are   born  and  cradled — here,  where  desert  sunsets   faint  and  fall  and  daily  spill  their 

9'^ 


A  RHAPSODT. 


^'FirZ-MACr 


gorgeous  colors  on  the  columned  walls  of  Time's  abysmal  tomb,  rhetoric   is   something 
worse  than  a  presumptuous  and  profitless  vanity;  it  is  a  profanation. 

Pray    spare  me,  in  this  mysterious  and  subduing  presence,   from    the    categorical 

inquiries  that  will  naturally  rush 
to  your  tongue — I  cannot  answer 
them;  my  emotions,  this  day,  are  in 
thrall  and  I  wish  to  reflect  on  "the 
thoughts  that  arise  in  me."  This 
wonder  has  been  scientifically  ob- 
served, surveyed  and  studied  by 
technical  experts  for  the  government, 
and  you  will  find  all  that  you  would 
ask  soberly  and  precisely  answered  in 
the  government's  magnificent  publi- 
cations on  the  subject,  which  will  be 
found  in  any  large  library.  Ask  to 
see  the  report  on  the  expedition 
of  Lieutenant  Whipple  of  1853-4; 
the  expedition  of  Lieutenant  Ives  in 
1858;  that  of  Major  Powell  about 
1868;  that  by  Lieutenant  Wheeler, 
published  in  1875,  ^o^-  ^^^j  ^"^^ 
whatever  else  has  followed.  If  you 
can  read  but  one.  Major  Powell's  is  by 
far  the  completest — a  superb  publica- 
tion, containing  illuminated  litho- 
graphs. 

COME  AND  SEE. 

Come  to  see  it.  There  is  no 
hardship  in  the  journey.  The  rail- 
road now  comes  directly  to  the  Grand 
Canyon.  You  must  not  conclude 
that  because  it  is  in  Arizona  it  will  be 
found  hot.  All  the  way  to  the 
"rim"  the  altitude  is  about  7,000  feet 
and  the  temperature,  in  consequence, 
is  as  cool  and  refreshing  as  by  the 
seaside. 

Come  and  behold  the  indescrib- 
able scene,  where  silence  seems  to  have 
dimension  and  color,  and  color  to  have 
melody  and  fragrance. 


ON    BOUCHER    TRAIL. 


96 


CLIMBING    SUNSET   MOUNTAIN,  ARIZONA. 

BY  PROF.  CHARLES  E.  B EEC  HER. 

The  trip  to  the  top  of  Sunset  Mountain,  and  the  wide  view 
obtained  from  its  summit,  is  a  fitting  introduction  to  the 
Grand  Canyon,  whose  north  wall  is  distinctly  seen  from  the 
flaming  top. 

When  the  main  travel  canyon-ward  was  by  way  of  Flag- 
staff, "Sunset"  was  a  topic  of  interest  to  all  tourists.  Even  now 
this  unique  uplift  merits  particular  mention  in  a  book  devoted 
to  the  canyon  district. 

Prof  C.  E.  Beecher,  professor  of  historical  geology,  Yale 
University,  New  Haven,  Conn.,  has  kindly  furnished  an  account 
of  his  experiences  on  Sunset  Mountain,  which  he  visited  with  a 
party  from  Yale  University  six  summers  ago. 

This  is  what  he  writes: 


PROF.CHARLESE.  BEECHER. 


RIGHTLY  NAMED.  ,, 

DICTIONARY  of  geographical  terms  would  doubtless  reveal  the  fact  that 
early  discoverers  have  designated  a  goodly  number  of  salient  points  on  the 
earth's  crust  as  "Sunset"  mountains.  However  this  may  be,  there  is  one 
alone  that  is  the  Simon-pure  article;  only  one  that  is  at  sunset  in  the  morn- 
ing, at  noon  and  at  night;  but  one  that,  scorning  the  elsewhere  necessary 
obliquity  of  the  sun's  rays,  has  its  own  sun-kissed  summit  fixed  in  enduring  dyes.  The 
one  mountain  possessing  these  remarkable  qualities  is  Sunset  Mountain,  Arizona. 

On  the  map  this  mountain  is  indicated  as  one  of  the  great  cluster  of  satellites  sur- 
rounding the  base  of  that  noble  volcanic  mountain  mass,  San  Francisco  Peaks,  from 
which  it  lies  about  ten  miles  to  the  eastward.  Except  by  title,  its  distinguishing  features 
are  not  represented,  and  the  skeptical  student  of  geography  might  naturally  surmise  that 
the  name  had  been  given  from  some  chance  occurrence  or  from  a  lack  of  characteristics, 
as  so  often  happens.     Such,  however,  is  not  the  case. 

SCENES  ON  THE  WAY. 

Our  Yale  party,  westbound  over  the  Santa  Fe — was  first  gladdened,  after  crossing  the 
treeless  wastes  of  eastern  Arizona,  by  a  vision  of  the  mountains  on  the  Colorado  Plateau. 
Before  leaving  the  desert  the  gash  in  the  rising  billows  of  rock  known  as  Canyon  Diablo 
is  crossed,  and  a  few  miles  beyond  a  sprinkling  of  cedars  dots  the  landscape.  Soon  we 
are  in  a  forest  of  dwarf  cedar  and  pinon,  increasing  in  density  and  height  as  the  railroad 
climbs  the  plateau.  By  the  time  the  outposts  of  the  mountains  are  reached  that  splen- 
did tree,  the  yellow  pine  of  the  West,  dominates  the  forest  and  makes  it  one  of  the  finest 
sylvan  regions  in  America, 

Our  destination  is  Flagstafi\,  lying  almost  at  the  foot  of  San  Francisco  Peaks. 
Some  time  before  reaching  it  we  are  treated  to  occasional  glimpses  of  a  mountain  difi^ering 
from  all  the  others.  Its  blackened  sides  and  its  summit  bathed  in  a  warm  glow  of  red 
and  yellow  proclaim  its  name.  Neither  map  nor  compass  are  needed  to  recognize 
it  as  Sunset  Mountain. 

The  attractive  and  hospitable  town  of  Flagstaff,  with  its  circle  of  natural  curiosities 

97 


CLIMBING  SUNSET  MOUNTAIN. 


C.  E.  B  EEC  HER. 


and  scenic  wonders,  is  a  most  convenient  tarrying  place.  The  little  excursion  here 
described  is  but  one  of  many  that  may  be  taken,  each  having  an  objective  point  of  pleas- 
ure and  interest. 

For  a  considerable  distance  the  road  from  Flagstaff  follows  along  the  old  stage  route 
to  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona,  and  skirts  the  eastern  base  of  San  Francisco  Peaks 
through  what  is  known  as  Coconino  Park.  A  drive  of  two  or  three  miles  brings  us  to 
one  end  of  a  lake  basin  thoroughly  drained  a  few  years  ago  by  part  of  the  bottom  falling 
out,  leaving  the  Bottomless  Pits  to  show  the  mode  of  exit  of  the  water.  A  branch  road 
along  this  former  lake  bed  leads  to  Walnut  Canyon,  the  ancient  abode  of  the  cliff- 
dwellers.  After  traveling  a  few  miles  we  make  a  short  detour  to  visit  the  ruder  habita- 
tions of  a  like-vanished  race,  the  cave-dwellers.  These  evidences  of  the  mole  men,  or 
troglodytes,  are  on  the  summit  of  a  lava  cone  several  hundred  feet  above  the  valley. 
The  outlook  is  one  of  considerable  extent  and  grandeur.  The  higher  peaks  of  the  moun- 
tains are  in  full  view  near  at  hand,  and  the  inimitable  "Sunset"  here  presents  some  of  its 
most  pronounced  effects. 

The  caves  are  volcanic  vents  enlarged  by  primitive  man  to  form  irregular  rooms. 
Sometimes  two  or  three  lead  into  each  other,  thus  constituting  a  suite  of  apartments.  The 
outside  entrance,  or  doorway,  often  opens  upward,  and  the  presence  of  a  low  ruined  wall 
surrounding  it  suggests  that  there  may  have  been  exterior  rooms  and  possibly  a  protecting 
roof.  The  inhabitants  were  not  without  skill,  for  we  find  abundant  remains  of  well-made 
and  beautifully  decorated  pottery,  as  well  as  stone  implements,  including  a  number  of 
metates,  or  mealing  stones. 

Our  road  continues  over  the  hard  surface  of  disintegrated  lava  beds  and  through  the 
forest  of  pines.  There  is  an  almost  entire  absence  of  fallen  timber  and  undergrowth, 
which  in  most  places  mar  the  aspect  and  make  travel  so  difficult.  No  forest  fires  or 
lumber  camps  have  as  yet  blasted  and  scourged  this  region,  which  still  remains  in  its 
original  perfection  and  beauty. 

NEARING  THE  BASE. 

A  few  miles  farther  on  we  leave  the  main  road  and  turn  in  the  direction  of  our  des- 
tination. The  harsh  grating  of  the  wheels  and  the  sinking  of  the  horses'  feet  warn  us 
that  we  have  entered  a  cinder-covered  area,  and  are  approaching  centers  of  more  recent 
volcanic  activity.     As  we  advance  the  cinders  become  more  incoherent  and  travel  more 


*^    ^Si?^ 

f 

j^^H^^ 

CAVE   DWELLINGS. 


A  LAVA   FIELD. 


98 


CLIMBING  SUNSET  MOUNTAIN. 


C.  E.  BEECHER. 


difficult,  until,  when  about  a  mile  from  Sunset,  we  are  forced  to  pity  the  straining  horses 
and  terminate  our  progress  on  wheels. 

Sunset  Mountain  is  before  us,  but  we  are  separated  from  it  by  a  barrier  which  seems 
impassable  without  wings.  A  lava  field  stretches  directly  in  front.  Its  forbidding  surface 
has  been  tossed  and  riven  by  the  opposing  elements  of  fire  and  steam  until  it  represents 
a  perfect  chaos  of  black  tumult.  Had  the  lava  stream  cooled  but  yesterday,  its  surface 
would  have  been  neither  fresher  nor  rougher.  Its  scoriaceous  and  blistered  exterior  seems 
to  have  suffered  no  change,  and  lichens,  even,  have  not  gained  a  foothold. 

Adopting  the  suggestion  of  the  driver  as  to  a  route  which  would  enable  us  to  cross 
the  lava  field,  we  set  forth.  At  one  point  a  wide  crack  extends  deep  into  the  flow. 
Entering  this  we  find  progress  feasible,  and,  by  clambering  over  a  few  bad  places  and 
picking  out  cinder  patches,  we  succeed  in  reaching  the  other  side.  The  lower  slopes 
of  the  mountain  are  gently  undulating  stretches  of  fine  cinders  entirely  devoid  of  grass, 
but  with  some  scattering  pines.  Very  perfect  little  cinder  cones  rise  up  here  and  there, 
while  interspersed  with  them  are  fantastic  masses  of  lava  hoodoos  projecting  their  scorched 
forms  above  the  smooth  cinder  beds,  like  nunataks.  Occasional  holes  show  where  explo- 
sions have  taken  place,  bulging  the  lava  around  the  edge  and  hurling  huge  blocks  to  a 
considerable  distance.  As  we  approach  the  mountain  we  find  that  Sunset,  too,  engaged 
in  the  practice  of  lofty  gunnery,  as  attested  by  numerous  lava  bombs  lying  about  the 
base.  Here  the  powerful  forces  of  nature  are  now  at  rest,  and  this  scene  of  former 
orographic  strife  is  succeeded  by  one  of  gentle  quiet  in  which  the  sighing  of  the  pines  and 
the  occasional  twitter  of  a  passing  bird  alone  break  the  stillness. 

THE  ASCENT. 

We  selected  a  route  up  the  mountain  leading  over  a  cinder-buried  lava  flow  which 
streamed  out  of  a  notch  in  the  summit  rim.  As  soon  as  the  ascent  was  b^gun  we  fully 
realized  that  Sunset  is  a  gigantic,  incoherent  cinder  volcano,  and  also  that  fine  cinders 
lying  at  the  critical  angle  of  repose  constitute  a  most  difficult  incline  for  bipeds.  A  long 
step  upward  resulted  in  starting  a  miniature  landslide  that  buried  the  lower  foot  and 
brought  the^upper  one  down  to  nearly  the  same  level.  It  required  a  great  many  of  these 
long  strides,  with  resultant  short  steps,  to  make  visible  progress.  The  most  satisfactory 
method  was  to  zigzag  at  a  rather  low  angle  and  thus  avoid  the  effort  of  extricating  the 
lower  foot.     One  could  hardly  help  being  reminded  of  the  sand-pit  described  as  the 


RESIDENCE  SECTION  OF  FLAGSTAFF. 


99 


CLIMBING  SUNSET  MOUNTAIN. 


C.  E.  BE  EC  HER. 


abode  of  the  Dead  Alive,  in  "The  Strange  Ride  of  Morrowbie  Jukes,"  only  we  realized 
that  all  there  was  to  do  to  get  out  of  the  dilemma,  and  escape  from  a  Gunga  Dass,  was 
to  slide  to  the  bottom. 

When  we  were  about  300  feet  below  the  summit  there  was  a  marked  change  from 
black  to  brick-red  in  the  color  of  the  cinders.  We  had  entered  the  region  of  perpetual 
sunset.  Farther  up,  the  evidences  of  fumarole  action,  with  its  bleaching  effects,  were 
everywhere  apparent.  The  color  of  the  rocks  first  became  a  rich  chrome,  but  as  we 
approached  the  top  we  passed  over  zones  of  bright  lemon-yellow  and  finally  pure  white. 
This  was  the  secret  of  the  mountain. 

Reaching  the  highest  point,  we  turned  about  us  to  study  the  surroundings.  The 
mountain  itself  had  a  perfectly  circular  crater  in  the  summit,  estimated  at  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  across,  400  feet  deep  and  having  the  form  of  an  inverted  cone.  To  the  west  were 
the  San  Francisco  Peaks,  those  ever-present  landmarks  of  northern  Arizona.  To  the 
south  we  looked  over  a  vast  area  of  forest  and  hills.  In  the  eastern  foreground  were 
grouped  several  superb  cinder  cones,  similar  to  the  one  we  were  on,  though  less  lofty, 
while  about  them  were  smaller  cones.  Numerous  lava  beds  reached  like  fingers  far  out 
to  the  edge  of  the  plateau,  as  if  to  grasp  the  iridescence  of  the  far-away  Painted  Desert. 
It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  the  week  before  we  were  struggling  over  its  deceptive 
rainbow-tinted  wastes  to  reach  the  distant  Moki  Land. 

Fully  sixty  miles  to  the  north,  over  an  unbroken  stretch  of  forest,  rise  the  banded 
walls  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado,  with,  beyond,  the  great  Kaibab  Plateau 
joining  the  line  of  the  horizon.  The  stupendous  expanse  of  the  ramparts  of  the  canyon 
stretching  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  the  luminosity  of  the  abyss  across  whose 
mysterious  depths  our  vision  extends,  make  us  realize  that  we  are  on  the  threshold  of 
the  sublime.  Loth  to  leave  this  entrancing  prospect  without  a  complete  antithesis,  we 
descend  to  the  bottom  of  the  crater  where  all  is  shut  out  with  blackness  save  a  circle  of 
azure  overhead.  Pausing  again  on  the  crater's  rim,  we  feel  that  our  first  introduction  to 
northern  Arizona  has  been  a  success.  As  a  geographic  picture,  it  has  surpassed  the  best 
maps;  as  a  natural  object  lesson,  it  has  been  fruitful  of  results. 

It  requires  no  effort  to  descend  Sunset! 


SUNSET  MOUNTAIN. 


Photo,  Robinson. 

100 


BOTTOM   OF   CRATER. 


i'hoto,  Seymour. 


HENRY    P.  EWING. 


CATARACT  CANYON,  ARIZONA. 

BY  HENRY  P.  EWING. 

Mr.  Henry  P.  Ewing,  at  one  time  United  States  Indian 
Agent  in  charge  of  the  Wallapai  and  Havasupai  Indians,  with 
headquarters  at  Truxton,  Ariz.,  furnishes  expressly  for  this  work 
an  interesting  account  of  Cataract  Canyon. 

Mr.  Ewing  has  resided  among  these  tribes  since  boyhood. 
He  has  made  a  careful  study  of  their  language,  religion,  customs, 
etc.,  and  speaks  both  languages  fluently.  While  engaged  as 
agent  for  them  he  carefully  studied  the  geological  conditions  of 
that  beautiful  side  gorge  known  as  Cataract  Canyon,  a  place 
which  comparatively  few  tourists  have  visited,  but  which  for 
romantic  beauty  and  unique  interest  is  well  worth  seeing.  One 
may  here  study  the  Indian  problem  a  little  at  first  hand,  as 
well  as  admire  Nature's  work. 


IN 


THE  BEGINNING. 

IN  the  legends  of  the  Wallapai  and  Havasupai  it  is  related  how  and  why  the 
Cataract  Canyon  was  selected  by  the  Havasupais  as  a  home. 
It  was  thus: 

When  the  several  families,  or  bands  of  people,  who  afterward  became  the 
great  tribes  of  the  southwest,  left  their  sacred  canyon  (Mat-a-we-dit-ta)  by 
direction  of  their  Moses  (Ka-that-ka-na-ve)  to  find  new  homes,  the  Havasupai  family 
journeyed  eastward  on  the  trail  taken  by  the  Navajo  and  Hopi.  One  night  they  camped 
in  the  Cataract  Canyon,  and  early  on  the  morrow  took  up  their  burdens  to  proceed  on 
their  journey,  but  just  as  they  were  starting  a  little  child  of  the  party  began  to  cry,  and 
the  Kohot  of  the  family,  knowing  this  to  be  a  warning  from  the  Great  Spirit,  decided  to 
remain  and  live  in  the  canyon. 

They  found  a  fertile  valley  of  some  five  hundred  acres  of  level  land,  which  was  easily 
irrigated  from  the  river  that  bursts  clear  and  sparkling  from  a  thousand  springs  at  the 
base  of  the  great  clifi^s,  and  rushes  on,  over  successive  cataracts,  to  join  the  Rio  Colorado  in 
its  vast  canyon.  They  called  the  place  Ha-va-sua,  meaning  Blue  Water;  and  by-and-by 
themselves  were  known  as  Ha-va-sua-pai  (dwellers  by  the  Blue  Water),  which  rather 
pretty  sounding  name  has  in  some  unaccountable  way  become  corrupted  into  "Yava 
Supai,"  "Supai"  and  "Suppai"  by  the  whites,  who  have  attempted  to  use  the  Indian  name. 

Smile  not  at  this  primitive  child  of  nature,  who  thought  he  heard  the  voice  of  the 
Great  Spirit  in  the  crying  of  this  child,  for  if  you  should  stand  in  the  spot  where  these 
primitive  people  stood  and  view  the  stupendous  works  wrought  by  the  Supreme  Architect, 
you  will  see  the  work  of  His  hands  in  the  massive  cliffs  that  tower  sublimely  beyond  the 
power  of  man  to  grasp.  You  may  then  understand  why  the  child  of  nature,  standing  in 
the  presence  of  nature's  greatest  achievement,  may  think  he  hears  the  voice  of  the  Great 
Spirit  in  the  breeze,  the  brook,  the  singing  of  the  birds;  and  sees  the  impress  of  His  power 
in  these  great  castles  and  towers. 

METHOD  OF  FORMATION. 

Seventy-five  miles  north  of  Seligman  station,  on  the  Santa  Fe,  the  beautiful  blue 
waters  of  the  Cataract  River  burst  from  beneath  massive  beds  of  sandstone  and  limestone 


102 


CATARACT  CANTON,  ARIZONA. 


HENRT  P.  EWING. 


rock,  4,000  feet  in  thickness.  Owing  to  a  peculiar  characteristic  of  the  rock  strata  in  the 
whole  of  this  region  (it  being  "cross-bedded,"  or  broken  and  cracked  vertically  as  well  as 
stratified  horizontally),  perpendicular  walls  thousands  of  feet  in  height  are  possible. 

No  other  gorges  are  like  those  in  the  Grand  Canyon  region. 

The  cause  is  simple  and  plain — this  previous  cross-bedding  or  vertical  fracture  of  the 
strata  by  some  force  causes  the  rock  to  let  go  from  its  place  on  the  side  of  the  canyon 
wall  in  long  blocks,  cracking  off  from  the  wall  often  in  masses  the  full  height  of  the 
canyon  wall.  In  this  way  the  vertical  face  of  the  canyon  wall  is  forever  preserved,  no 
matter  how  deep  the  waters  may  erode,  nor  how  wide  the  canyon  may  become  by  the 
falling  off  of  these  rectangular  blocks  of  stone. 

It  is  this  same  characteristic  and  peculiarity  that  accounts  for  the  scarcity  of  springs  of 
living  water  on  the  great  plateaus  above. 

For  these  vertical  seams  and  cracks  in  the  strata  allow  the  water  from  the  rain  and 
snowfall  above  to  percolate  through  its  4,000  feet  of  strata  until  it  reaches  a  strata  of 
limestone,  not  cross-bedded,  and  which  first  crops  out  in  the  bed  of  the  canyon  at  the 
villages  of  Havasupai.  Having  reached  this  impervious  strata,  all  the  drainage  from  the 
thousands  of  square  miles  of  plateau  above  bursts  forth  through  its  thousand  orifices 
into  the  Cataract  Canyon,  forming  the  sparkling  blue  river  Havasu 

DIKE  BUILDING. 

But  here  another  wonder  meets  the  sight.  While  this  water  was  percolating  through 
these  successive  layers  of  limestone  rock  it  became  impregnated  to  saturation  with  lime. 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
O.  Wharton  Jttmen. 


HOME  OF  HAVASUPAI  INDIANS.  Copyright,  lom,  hp  HAVASUPAI  WOMAN  WITH  KATHAK. 

O.  Wharton  James. 


103 


CATARACT  CANTON,  ARIZONA. HENRT  P.  EJVING. 

and  as  soon  as  it  comes  out  of  the  rock  and  the  carbon  dioxide  of  the  air  comes  in  con- 
tact with  it  the  Hme  becomes  insoluble  and  is  deposited.  During  the  centuries  past  this 
river  has  deposited  such  vast  quantities  of  marl  that  four  great  dams  have  been  built  up, 
forming  barriers  across  the  canyon  over  which  the  river  pours  in  cascades  of  such  beauty 
and  grandeur  as  to  be  beyond  the  power  of  pen  to  describe.  Above  the  first  dam  the 
debris  has  filled  in  the  canyon  to  the  top  of  the  dam,  forming  a  level  and  fertile  valley 
of  some  500  acres.  This  land  is  cultivated  by  the  Havasupais  in  a  primitive  way, 
following,  no  doubt,  the  methods  learned  from  the  cliff-dwellers,  who  occupied  the 
dwellings  still  to  be  seen  high  up  in  the  canyon  walls,  and  evidently  cultivated  the  soil 
in  the  valley  below.  Many  of  these  ancient  dwellings,  well  preserved,  are  visible  to  the 
tourist,  high  up  in  crevices  in  the  rocks. 

RIVER  AND  FALLS. 

After  rushing  in  foaming  torrents  over  Supai  and  Navajo  falls,  fifty  and  seventy-five 
feet  high,  respectively,  the  Havasu  glides  through  a  narrow  canyon  for  half  a  mile,  in  a 
valley  matted  with  masses  of  trees,  vines  and  ferns,  the  delicate  green  of  whose  foliage 
contrasts  beautifully  with  the  dead  gray  walls  of  the  deep,  dark  canyon. 

Then  leaping  over  another  barrier,  built  by  itself,  the  crystal  waters  dash  in  clouds  of 
spray  through  masses  of  ferns,  mosses  and  trees  175  feet  perpendicularly  into  a  great 
seething  pool  below.  This  is  called  the  Bridal  Veil  Falls,  from  the  cloud  of  mist  and 
spray  that  ever  hangs  about  it,  and  in  the  sunlight  reflects  rainbows. 

For  three  miles  we  follow  the  swiftly  but  smoothly  gliding  stream  through  a  canyon, 
whose  perpendicular  walls  of  gray  limestone  seem  to  meet  overhead  in  the  blue  of  the 
sky.  Such  a  chasm  as  this  does  not  exist  elsewhere.  What  contrast  between  those  dull, 
cold,  gray,  sky-reaching  limestone  walls  that  fill  us  with  awe  and  dread,  and  the  beau- 
tiful verdure  and  foliage  of  a  semi-tropic  clime  strewn  in  profligate  profusion  below  and 
all  around. 

We  now  come  to  the  scenic  climax  of  this  little  wonderland — the  Mooney  Falls. 
Leaping  over  another  self-built  barrier  in  the  narrow,  and  now  much  deeper  gorge,  the 
entire  volume  of  water  (a  stream  four  feet  deep  and  twenty  feet  wide)  leaps  in  one  solid 
mass  300  feet  perpendicularly  into  a  seemingly  bottomless  pool  below,  where  the  dark 
blue  waters,  after  foaming  and  boiling  for  awhile,  rush  away  to  mingle  their  pure  crystal 
tide  with  the  ever  turbid  flood  of  the  Colorado. 

Nothing  can  equal  or  surpass  the  vastness  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona,  but  for 
a  beauty  and  sublimity  peculiar  to  itself  the  subordinate  Cataract  Canyon  stands  alone. 

Cataract  Canyon  is  about  forty  miles  from  El  Tovar.  There  is  a  wagon  road  for  twenty- 
five  miles  to  within  two  miles  of  the  rim  of  Topocobya  Canyon — part  of  the  way  across 
small  hills  near  the  south  wall  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  and  the  remaining  distance  across  a 
level  country  in  the  grateful  shade  of  scrub  oak  and  juniper.  If  a  detour  is  made  to 
Bass*  Camp  the  distance  is  a  few  miles  greater.  A  well-defined  trail  leads  to  where  the 
abrupt  descent  begins.  From  the  top  of  Topocobya  to  the  Supai  village  is  about  thirteen 
miles.  The  descent  from  the  rim  can  only  be  made  on  horse-back,  which  necessitates 
taking  along  pack  and  saddle  animals,  also  a  complete  camp  outfit  and  provisions  for  man 
and  beast.  The  trip.  Bright  Angel  to  Havasupai,  can  be  made  in  fifteen  hours  contin- 
uous travel,  but  a  longer  time  is  taken  in  order  to  camp  at   Topocobya  over  night. 

104 


CATARACT  CANTON,  ARIZONA. 


HENRT  P.  EWING. 


The  journey  should  only  be  undertaken  by  those  accustomed  to  roughing  it,  as  at 
the  best  some  fatigue  may  be  expected,  although  ladies  have  recently  made  the  trip 
without  much  inconvenience.  There  are  no  regular  accommodations  now  for  the 
"Supai"  side  tour,  but  one  may  engage  a  team  and  saddle  animals  at  El  Tovar.  Special 
advance  arrangements  must  be  made  for  same.  The  cost  varies  with  the  size  of  the  party 
and  the  time  spent  at  destination. 

According  to  a  recent  rule,  visitors  to  the  reservation  must  first  obtain  a  permit 
from  the  Santa  Fe  agent  at  Grand  Canyon. 

One  should  arrange  to  stay  in  Cataract  Canyon  at  least  two  days. 

Note  by  Editor — The  Havasupais  number  250  persons.  Their  village  in  Cataract  (or  Havasu)  Canyon  is 
not  often  visited.  It  is  scattered  for  three  miles  along  willow-lined  Havasu  Creek,  from  the  school  house  to  Bridal 
Veil  Falls.  These  Indians  are  chiefly  farmers,  raising  corn,  pumpkins,  melons  and  peaches,  and  are  self-supporting; 
they  also  make  baskets.  The  United  States  Government  has  established  a  school  here.  Near  by  are  interesting  ruins 
and  cHfF  dwellings.  There  are  other  Indians  in  the  Grand  Canyon  region  who  occasionally  visit  the  Havasupais, 
The  Utes  tramp  down  from  Nevada,  crossing  at  West  Ferry;  the  Wallapais  come  in  from  near  Hackberry  and 
Peach  Springs,  and  the  Mokis  from  north  of  Canyon  Diablo — mainly  attracted  by  the  Peach  Dance,  an  interesting 
ceremony  which  occurs  the  latter  part  of  August,  when  the  main  crop  of  fruit  is  ready  for  drying.  The  Wallapais 
and  the  Chimihuevis  frequently  intermarry  with  the  dwellers  in  Cataract  Canyon. 


BRIDAL  VEIL  FALLS,  CATARACT  CANYON. 


105 


JOHN   HAN'CE. 


JOHN  HANCE:    A  STUDY. 

BY  HAMLIN  GARLAND. 

Where  the  Rockies  reach  starward  are  beauty  and  grandeur, 
silence  and  power.  These  influences  work  upon  the  men  and 
women  who  dwell  there,  and  if  the  sojourn  be  long  enough  and 
outside  of  any  community,  the  result  is  a  personality  unlike  that 
of  the  average  American. 

All  outdoors  is  so  big  and  still,  so  full  of  peaks  or  so  hori- 
zon-open, so  free  from  crowding  and  crowds,  and  so  supreme  in 
authority,  that  the  sons  of  the  hills  become  individualists — each 
fulfilling  his  own  mission  in  his  own  way. 

Thus  we  find  unique  characters  everywhere  in  the  South- 
west. John  Hance,  the  Grand  Canyon  guide,  is  one  of  them — 
a  little  overpraised  and  overrated,  perhaps,  but  still  a  striking 
figure  and  closely  identified  with  tourist  travel  to  the  canyon. 
Hamlin  Garland  tells  of  Hance's  peculiar  ways  in  the  following  sketch,  here  repro- 
duced by  permission  of  the  author: 

A  PIONEER. 

^HE  man  who  ought  to  be  remembered  with  the  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado 
is  not  a  scientist,  nor  a  painter,  nor  a  poet.  He  is  only  an  old  pioneer  who  has 
summered  and  wintered  with  the  Grand  Canyon  for  twelve  years.  His  name 
is  John  Hance.  Some  people  call  him  Old  John  Hance,  and  he  calls  himself, 
at  times,  old  Captain  John  Hance,  and  I  believe  he  has  a  m.ilitary  record  to 
back  up  the  title.     It  doesn't  matter,  he  holds  a  better  one. 

Your  friends  who  have  been  to  the  canyon  will  say:  "See  the  canyon,  of  course,  but 
don't  fail  to  see  old  John  Hance,"  and  I  hereby  celebrate,  also,  the  personality  of  the 
man  who  made  the  canyon  his  home  when  it  was  practically  an  unexplored  wonder. 

I  do  not  care  to  go  behind  the  old  man's  own  statement  of  the  case,  for  that  statement 
is  so  good  it  ought  to  be  final,  even  if  it  isn't. 

In  the  summer  of  1869,  Major  Powell  and  party  made  the  only  descent  by  boat  that 
had  ever  been  known  in  this  stupendous  gorge.  But  what  of  that?  In  1883,  John 
Hance  came  upon  the  canyon — in  a  prospecting  tour;  admired  it,  loved  it,  and  has 
lived  with  it  ever  since  and  expects  to  die  beside  it  and  be  buried  in  it — God  willing 
and  man  aiding. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  have  visited  the  Grand  Canyon,  and  an  honor  to  have  explored  it, 
but  it  is  a  glory  to  have  loved  it  and  lived  beside  it  to  the  exclusion  of  neighbors,  friends, 
wife  and  children.  It  has  claimed  all  there  is  of  John  Hance.  His  loyalty  is  unques- 
tioned.    He  talks  of  it,  dreams  of  it,  his  gestures  delineate  it,  his  talk  conforms  to  it. 

HIS  SUMMER  HOME. 

In  summer  he  lives  on  the  rim,  and  the  door  of  his  little  cabin  commands  one  of  the 
finest  views  of  the  most  tremendous  gulf  in  the  world — the  point  where  the  Colorado 
River  breaks  through  the  Buckskin  Plateau.  At  sunset,  when  his  evening  snack  is  eaten, 
John  can  pull  a  stool  to  the  very  edge  of  the  awful  chasm  and  there  sit  and  smoke  his 
pipe  and  watch  the  splendid  colors  shift  and  glow,  and  cool,  and  darken  in  the  deeps,  and 

106 


Photo,  W.  H.  Knap. 


COLORADO   R]VER,   FOOT  OF  BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 


JOHN  HANCE:    A  STUDT. HAMLIN  GARLAND. 

flare  behind  the  sculptured  peaks  like  banners,  as  if  some  hidden  flaming  fire  were  trying 
to  outdo  the  glory  of  the  sky.  He  chose  this  site  because  he  loved  it.  He  had  a 
cabin  at  first  which  was  more  sheltered  by  the  pines,  but  he  couldn't  see  his  canyon, 
so  he  moved. 

WINTER  QUARTERS. 

Here  he  lives,  surrounded  by  his  mules  until  October  comes — and  then,  when  the 
cold  winds  threaten  and  snow  begins  to  slide  along  the  high  plateau,  John  mounts  his 
favorite  mule,  and  driving  all  his  cattle  before  him,  descends  6,000  feet  and  finds  perpet- 
ual summer.  On  the  sage-green  bushes,  1,000  feet  above  the  river,  his  cattle  feed.  In 
his  tent  among  the  mesquite  trees,  the  old  pioneer  lives,  while  far  above  him  the  harsh 
winds  howl  and  the  whirling  snow  falls  foot  by  foot,  blocking  every  road  and  piling  high 
above  his  cabin. 

At  his  door  the  sullen,  tawny-red  flood  roars,  laden  with  millions  of  tons  of  soil, 
crashing  its  mighty  bowlders  together,  gnawing  upon  the  cliff^s,  sinking  itself  in  the  solid 
rock  like  a  file  into  an  anvil.  In  the  daytime  as  John  works  at  his  forge,  or  rides  after 
his  cattle,  the  river's  voice  grows  dim  and  small,  but  at  night  when,  with  his  pipe  in 
hand,  he  sits  at  the  door  of  his  tent  and  the  darkness  rises  from  the  flood  like  an  exhala- 
tion, then  the  river  awakes,  its  roar  grows  louder,  angrier,  more  tumultuous.  It  comes 
at  last  to  dominate  the  whole  valley.  It  then  appears  the  potentiality  it  really  is — the 
power  which  has  hewn  out  this  incomprehensible  chasm  between  the  mountainous  clifi^s. 

The  tourist  sees  the  canyon  from  the  rim  or  during  one  day  on  the  trail,  but  John 
sees  it  365  days  in  the  year,  and  each  day  it  is  difi^erent.  He  sees  it  when  the  gray 
clouds  roof  it  in  like  some  prodigious  dim  temple.  He  sees  it  when  the  tall  peaks  are 
white  as  marble  and  the  upper  canyons  are  filled  with  ice;  when  the  streams  around  him 
are  quickened  by  melting  snow  and  the  grass  grows  green  again  through  falling  rain. 
He  sees  it  in  a  thousand  varied,  harmonious  eflfects  of  light  and  shade — in  moonlight,  in 
starlight,  in  dawnlight. 

AN  EXPLORER. 

In  the  winter  days  when  there  is  nothing  else  to  do  (and  there  could  be  nothing 
better  to  do),  John  goes  exploring  the  mysterious  presence.  Driving  his  burro,  laden 
with  a  camping  outfit,  he  strikes  out  along  the  river.  One  winter  he  explores  up,  the 
next  winter  down.  In  very  truth  he  knows  the  canyon  for  a  hundred  miles,  knows 
it  and  loves  it — does  not  fear  it.  He  knows  that  in  the  midst  of  these  overawing 
immensities  there  are  grassy  nooks  where  the  ferns  grow  and  water  falls  with  merry 
gurgle.  The  canyon  has  a  thousand  moods  when  one  comes  to  live  with  it.  John  has 
seen  them  all. 

He  knows,  too,  the  cliff-dwellers'  houses,  mere  swallow  nests  in  the  unscalable  clifi^s, 
and  he  muses  upon  the  antiquity  of  man,  and  most  of  all  upon  the  antiquity  of  this  river 
bed.  He  speaks  often  of  the  mighty  dikes  of  granite  through  which  the  river  has 
chiseled  its  way,  and  asks:  "Who  can  tell  how  long  it  has  taken  to  drill  through  rock 
like  that?     Long  enough  to  make  men  of  no  account  on  this  earth — surely." 

He  has  come,  naturally,  to  feel  a  sort  of  proprietorship  here.  He  recognized  the 
grim  resolution  of  Powell  in  going  through  it  when  every  bend  in  its  river  was  unknown 
and  threatening — but  he  knows  that  it  can  be  traversed  to-day  without  much  danger. 

108 


JOHN  HANCE:    A  STUDT. 


HAMLIN  GARLAND. 


Powell  and  Moran  had  the  cultivated  faculty  of  letting  the  world  know  of  their  discover- 
ies. Old  John  has  only  the  power  of  his  tongue,  which  is  considerable,  but  does  not 
reach  the  great  world. 

• 

A  STORY  TELLER. 

There  are  those  who  laugh  at  John  Hance  and  see  nothing  in  him.  Others  acknowl- 
edge him  to  be  a  powerful  and  astonishing  fictionist.  Consciously  he  is  a  teller  of 
whopping  lies.  Unconsciously  he  is  one  of  the  most  dramatic  and  picturesque  natural 
raconteurs  I  have  ever  met.  His  experiences  as  a  soldier,  as  a  guide  on  the  plains,  as  a 
prospector,  as  a  hunter,  furnish  him  with  an  enormous  fund  of  actual  adventure,  which  he 
tells  with  the  power  of  actor  and  fictionist  combined — provided  he  does  not  become  self- 
conscious.     Unless  carefully  handled  his  wit  is  labored  and  artificial. 

He  is  a  Tennesseean,  and  his  soft^  drawling  voice  and  accented  auxiliary  verbs  add 
quaintness  and  distinction  to  his  stories.  His  gift  for  telling  phrases  is  as  great  in  its 
way  as  that  of  Whitcomb  Riley.  His  profanity  is  never  commonplace.  It  blazes  out 
like  some  unusual  firework  and  illumines  his  story  for  yards  around.  It  is  not  profanity; 
it  is  dramatic  fervor.  He  has  his  weaknesses  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  they  are  apparent 
to  any  casual  comer. 

But  the  man  has,  also,  something  elemental  about  him — something  which  makes  his 
frame  invincible  to  cold  and  hunger.  He  would  be  lost,  and  helpless,  and  ill  at  ease  in 
Chicago  or  New  York,  but  here  he  is  native.  To  think  of  him  jogging  down  the  trail 
in  the  autumn,  a  minute  speck  of  living  matter,  to  spend  five  months  alone  in  that  stu- 
pendous abyss,  is  to  come  to  the  man's  real  quality.  And  he  does  this,  be  it  understood, 
not  as  an  act  of  bravado,  not  as  a  scientist  to  explore  for  a  winter,  but  to  live  there  as  a 
matter  of  choice. 

He  has  his  stories  of  vast  gold  mines,  it  is  true,  but  nobody  believes  them.  If  they 
were  there — what  matter?  It  is  a  government  park  reservation.  He  has  his  theory  that 
all  the  washings  of  gold  from  the  San  Juan  country  for  a  million  years,  are  lodged  along 
this  river  bed,  and  if  it  could  be  turned  aside  at  certain  places  there  would  be  tons  of 
gold  lying  in-»the  pot  holes  in  the  granite,  but  there  it  lies  and  there  it  must  forever 
remain  beneath  that  enormous  ferocious  flood. 

He  does  not  fear  to  be  out  of  the  world,  for  he  has  beside  him  the  one  incontestable 
wonder  of  God's  earth.  If  he  waits  long  enough,  all  the  world  will  come  to  him.  All 
the  poets  and  scientists  and  geologists — all  the  people  really  worth  knowing  will  come  to 
see  old  John  and  his  canyon,  and  I  here  say  deliberately  they  are  both  worth  while. 


AT  BASS 


CAMP,  HEAD  OF  BASS  TRAIL. 


109 


COMMENTS. 


HAT  has  been  said  about  the  Grand  Canyon  would  fill  many  books.     Many 

thousand  tourists  have  visited  the  scene.      Each  has  tried,  by  word  of  mouth, 

by  pen,  or  by  picture,  to  put  individual  impressions  into  some  lasting  form. 

Out  of  a  large  file  of  newspaper  clippings  and  letters,  the  following 

have  been  selected  as  fairly  typical  of  how  the  canyon  appears  to  tourists, 

journalists,  business  men,  educators  and  others.      Only  brief  extracts  are  given: 


I  have  seen  all  the  wonders  of  the  new  world.      The  Grand  Canyon  is  the  grandest 
of  them  all. — C.  P.  Bond,  of  Boston  Journal. 


I  think  it  is  very,  very  deep  and  grand,  and  that  it  Aiust  have  taken  a  very  long  time 
to  make  it.  I  would  like  to  stay  here  forever,  it  is  so  beautiful. — Carglinte  Hadley, 
(aged  9  years), 

Imagine,  if  you  can,  all  the  armies  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  marching  in  solid 
columns  from  opposite  sides  of  this  appalling  gorge  to  meet  each  other  in  battle  array, 
unconscious  of  the  existence  of  this  spot  until  too  late  to  save  themselves  from  being 
swallowed  up  in  its  abysmal  depths;  imagine  all  these  vast  bodies  of  men,  with  all  the 
guns,  all  the  horses — infantry,  cavalry,  artillery,  sappers,  miners  and  pontoniers — all  the 
transportation  trains  and  all  the  impedimenta  of  an  army,  together  with  all  the  buildings 
of  all  the  cities  of  the  world;  imagine  all  this  vast  aggregation  of  men  and  material 
thrown  into  this  immeasurable  abyss,  and  the  Grand  Canyon  would  still  remain  unfilled 
for  its  entire  length,  and  the  Colorado  River  would  continue  to  flow  unintercepted  on 
its  resistless  course  to  the  sea.  In  its  measureless,  cruel,  insatiable  maw  all  would  be 
swallowed  up. — Gen.  Harrison  Gray  Otis,  Los  Angeles  Times. 


There  are  mountains  that  reach  almost  to  the  moon;  there  are  oceans  that  spread 
over  nearly  half  the  universe;  there  are  pyramids,  palaces,  monuments,  cathedrals  which 
excite  awe  and  admiration;  there  are  mighty  rivers  and  cataracts;  but  there  is  only  one 
Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado,  and  those  who  have  placed  it  within  the  reach  of  ordin- 
ary travelers  have  done  the  world  an  important  service.  *  *  *  It  is  a  stupendous 
intaglio,  carved  in  the  silent  Arizona  desert  by  river,  rain  and  winds.  ■^*  '^'  '''''  *  *• 
There  is  nothing  to  compare  with  it  anywhere  in  the  world.  It  is  impossible  to  exag- 
gerate the  grandeur,  the  sublimity,  the  impressiveness  of  the  scenery;  and  its  fascination 
cannot  be  accurately  described. — William  E.  Curtis,  in  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


In  coming  to  this  place  I  had  half  a  wish  and  half  a  purpose  to  write  a  description 
of  it;  but,  now  that  I  have  seen  it,  I  feel  that  description  of  it  is,  for  me,  impossible. 
The  hand  that  wrote  the  Hymn  to  Sunrise  in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni,  might  have  made 
a  word  picture  of  this  wonderful  scene,  or,  better  still,  might  have  expressed  the  emotion 
it  inspires;  but  that  hand  is  at  rest,  and  no  fellow  to  it  exists  on  earth.  One  word,  how- 
ever, can  be  written,  and  that  is  a  word  of  urgent  counsel  to  the  American  traveler  not 
to  seek  the  marvels  of  Europe  till  he  has  first  looked  upon  this  marvel  of  his  native 
land. — William   Winter,  in  New  York  Tribune. 


I  lO 


COMMENTS. 


I  have  seen  the  Grand  Canyon!  No  painter  can  paint  it — no  photographer  can 
photograph  it.  To  me  its  awfulness  is  lost  in  its  marvelous  beauty.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  first  impression  I  got  from  Grand  View  Point  one  afternoon  in  November.  The  sky 
was  without  a  cloud  and  the  atmosphere  was  indescribably  clear;  the  whole  scene  was 
phantom-like,  unreal,  almost  unearthly. — G.  H.  Buek,  Vice-President  American  Litho- 
graphic Company. 

The  vision  of  the  canyon  at  sunset  is  one  of  the  marvels.  All  its  colors  are  inten- 
sified and  the  reds  and  yellows  burn  like  coals.  When  the  low  sun  gilds  the  red  sand- 
stone masses,  oceans  of  rose-flame  sweep  up  the  walls,  more  and  more  brilliant  as  they 
climb,  until  the  topmost  thousand  feet  of  the  farther  rim  blaze  with  the  fire  of  hyacinth, 
ruby  and  garnet.  All  the  sky  is  gorgeous  with  pink  light,  yet  the  pinnacles  of  rock  that 
catch  the  last  gleams  are  more  brilliant  than  the  clouds.  The  splendor  rises  and  fades 
and  is  caught  by  the  vapors  overhead.  After  the  sky  colors,  too,  have  faded,  you  are 
about  to  turn  away,  lingering,  regretting,  when — again,  a  wonder;  for  new  colors,  deep, 
tender,  solemn,  flow  up  along  the  painted  walls,  as  night  brims  out  of  the  deep.  The 
bottom  grows  vague  and  misty,  but  each  Walhalla  is  steeped  in  purple  as  soft  as  the 
bloom  of  grapes.  When  day  is  wholly  gone  and  the  canyon  has  become  to  the  eye  a 
mere  feeling  or  impression  of  depth  and  space,  walk  out  on  some  lonely  point.  The 
slopes,  thirteen  miles  away,  are  visible  as  gray  walls,  distinct  from  the  black  cliffs,  and  on 
the  hither  side  the  trees  are  clear  against  the  snow.  No  night  is  absolute  in  blackness, 
but  as  we  look  it  seems  as  though  the  canyon  was  lighted  from  within.  It  is  an  abyss 
of  shadow  and  mystery.  There  is  a  sadness  in  the  canyon,  as  in  all  great  things  of 
nature,  that  removes  it  from  human  experience.  We  have  seen  the  utmost  of  the  world's 
sublimity  and    life   is    fuller    from    that  hour. — C.   M.   Skinner,  in   Brooklyn  Eagle. 


It  is  the  only  scenery  on  the  globe  that  does  not  disappoint.  Suddenly,  without  any 
premonition,  the  earth  yawns  beneath  you!  You  stand  upon  the  brink  of  the  bottomless 
pit.  Terrible!  An  indescribable  emotion  seizes  you.  You  wish  to  topple  forward,  to 
fling  yourself  into  that  awful  chaotic  chasm.  You  recoil,  step  back  and  lift  your  eyes, 
and,  lo,  the  gates  of  paradise  seem  swinging  before  you,  and  through  them  you  see  the 
walls  and  ramparts  and  golden  streets  of  a  city  not  made  with  hands. 

And  that  is  just  what  the  Grand  Canyon  is — a  combination  of  regions  infernal  and 
celestial.  I  am  not  going  to  try  to  describe  it,  for  before  its  superhuman  majesty,  its 
splendor,  its  loveliness,  words  become  as  sounding  brass  and  as  a  tinkling  cymbal.  I  wish 
only  to  say  that  as  I  stood  there  and  looked  at  it  first,  flooded  with  the  soft  golden  and 
violet  lights  of  sunset,  I  longed  for  a  trumpet  to  send  forth  a  clarion  call  over  this  vast 
country  and  to  cry:  "Stop,  stop,  Americans!  Do  not  go  abroad!  Look  at  your  own 
country  first.     Come  here  and  see  what  God  has  wrought." — Edith  Sessions  Tupper. 


Even  before  entering  the  hotel  I  had  seen  what  would  alone  repay  a  journey  from 
Boston  to  Bright  Angel  Trail.  The  marvelous  sea  of  color  was  like  a  revelation  of  the 
new  Jerusalem.  The  colossal  canyon  itself  could  not  hold  the  people  who  would  throng 
here,  were  it  adequately  known. — Lilian  Whiting,  author  of  "The  World  Beautiful." 


112 


COMMENTS. 


The  Creator  has  several  autographs ^ — Yosemite,  the  Yellowstone,  the  Grand  Canyon 
of  Arizona  and  others.  The  Yosemite  might  be  called  the  Valhalla,  the  temple  of  the 
gods;  the  Yellowstone  might  be  called  their  playground,  their  sublime  wonderland;  the 
Grand  Canyon,  bursting  upon  the  vision  out  of  its  remote  solitude  in  the  Arizona  desert, 
might  be  called  their  grave.  Horror!  Tragedy!  Silence!  Death!  Chaos!  There  is  the 
awful  canyon  in  five  words.  Standing  on  the  rim  of  this  titan  of  chasms,  studying  its 
awful  and  bewildering  architecture,  its  terrifying  abysses,  plunging  precipice  into  precipice, 
spectral,  elusive,  overwhelming  the  faculties,  and  over  all  the  unbroken  silence  of  the 
underworld,  save  for  the  weeping  of  the  pines  at  dusk,  and  the  hoarse,  almost  indistin- 
guishable, groaning  of  the  giant  river  boring  unseen  in  its  remotest  abyss — it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  it  were  the  burying  ground  of  the  universe.  It  is  the  delirium  of  Nature.  It 
seems  both  alive  and  dead.  The  mind  at  first  stands  aghast.  There  is  a  sense  of  terror 
that  cannot  be  put  into  words.  There  is  the  silence  of  eternity.  There  is  no  yardstick, 
except  the  units  be  in  abysmal  vortexes  and  tangled  mountain  forms.  There  is  nothing 
to  compare  it  with  or  measure  it  by,  but  infinity. — Rev.  C.  B.  Spencer,  in  Rocky  Moun- 
tain Advocate,  Denver. 

I  have  stood  on  mountain  tops  and  looked  across  distances  greater  than  any  between 
the  rims  of  this  abyss,  but  none  of  these  gave  me  this  thrilling  sense  of  grandeur  appall- 
ing and  unearthly,  of  supernal  and  impossible  beauty.  And  the  utter  restfulness  of  the 
place  makes  it  eternal  to  the  sense.  Here  is  no  motion  except  the  motion  of  light  and 
shadow,  no  life  but  the  life  of  the  spirit.  This  must  be  the  place  of  departed  souls,  for 
here  all  things  endure. 

And  the  return  to  the  rim  is  an  ascent  into  heaven — one  cannot  escape  the  illusion. 
The  supernal  vision  returns  to  me — I  think  I  shall  always  see  it  when  I  close  my  eyes, 
and  long  for  it  when  I  open  them.  Surely  it  would  be  a  shame  to  enter  paradise  without 
beholding  the  uttermost  splendor  of  earth.  So  let  me  urge  this  place  of  peace  and  glory 
upon  all  who  dwell  in  cities  and  burden  their  minds  with  things  of  little  importance. — 
Miss  Harriet  Monroe,  in  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

.* 

Nowhere  in  all  the  world  can  the  geologist  obtain  in  a  single  glance  such  an  impres- 
sive lesson  in  geology. — Ralph  S.  Tarr,  Professor  of  Physical  Geography,  Cornell 
University. 


A  TRIP  ALONG  THE  RIM. 


113 


COMMENTS. 


For  the  traveler,  no  emphasis  of  commendation  would  be  excessive.  American 
pilgrims  will  cross  the  ocean,  will  seek  the  Alps,  will  penetrate  the  wilds  of  Russian 
Siberia,  will  traverse  Indian  wilds  and  African  deserts,  in  search  of  novelty,  and  yet  they 
will  neglect  this  greatest  of  novelties,  this  surpassing  wonder  of  their  native  land  *  *  * 
A  pageant  of  ghastly  desolation  and  yet  of  frightful  vitality,  such  as  neither  Dante  nor 
Milton  in  their  most  sublime  conceptions  ever  even  approached.  *  *  *  -sfr  Your 
heart  is  moved  with  feeling  that  is  far  too  deep  for  words.  Hour  after  hour  you  would 
sit,  entranced,  at  the  edges  of  this  mighty  subterranean  spectacle,  lost  in  the  wonder  and 
glory  of  it,  forgetful  of  self,  and  conscious  only  of  the  Divine  Spirit. — William  Winter, 
in  the  Pacific  Monthly. 


Nature  has  a  few  big  places  beyond  man's  power  to  spoil — the  ocean,  the  two  icy 
ends  of  the  globe,  and  the  Grand  Canyon.  *  *  *  Xhe  view  down  the  gulf  of  color 
and  over  the  rim  of  its  wonderful  wall,  more  than  any  other  view  I  know,  leads  us  to 
think  of  our  earth  as  a  star  with  stars  swimming  in  light,  every  radiant  spire  pointing  the 
way  to  the  heavens.  *  *  ^  One's  most  extravagant  expectations  are  infinitely 
surpassed,  though  one  expects  much  from  what  is  said  of  it.  *  *  *  This  is  the 
main  master  furrow  of  its  kind  on  our  continent,  incomparably  greater  and  more 
impressive  than  any  other  yet  discovered,  or  likely  to  be  discovered.  *  *  *  Surely 
nowhere  else  are  there  illustrations  so  striking  of  the  natural  beauty  of  desolation  and 
death,  so  many  of  Nature's  own  mountain  buildings  wasting  in  glory  of  high  desert  air — 
going  to  dust.  *  *  *  It  seems  a  gigantic  statement  for  even  Nature  to  make,  all 
in  one  mighty  stone  word.  Wildness  so  Godful,  cosmic,  primeval,  bestows  a  new  sense 
of  earth's  beauty  and  size.  *  *  ♦  g^^.  ^.j^^  colorSy  the  living,  rejoicing  colors^ 
chanting,  morning  and  evening,  in  chorus  to  heaven!  Whose  brush  or  pencil,  however 
lovingly  inspired,  can  give  us  these.?  *  *  *  In  the  supreme  flaming  glory  of  sunset 
the  whole  canyon  is  transfigured,  as  if  all  the  life  and  light  of  centuries  of  sunshine 
stored  up  in  the  rocks  was  now  being  poured  forth  as  from  one  glorious  fountain,  flood- 
ing both  earth  and  sky. — John  Muir,  in  The  Century  Magazine. 


IN  TIME  OF  FLOOD. 


114 


COMMENTS. 


From  the  ragged  upper  edge  of  a  western  cloud  bank — grim  battlement  of  the  sun — 
hang  an  arras  of  many  league-long  Indian  blankets.  Drive  under  them,  from  beyond, 
a  tempest  that  shall  rush,  mad  with  fear,  from  the  awful  Commander's  presence. 

The  high  escutcheoned  curtain  is  hurled  in  a  thousand  rugged  billows;  tossed  into 
shifting  peaks  and  weird  convolutions;  rolled  and  ribboned  and  rent,  while  the  fierce 
barbaric  colors  are  massed  and  parted;  cities  seem  builded  and  razed,  seas  stormed,  and 
forests  heaving  under  the  flying  canopy;  and  the  trailing,  splendid  shreds  cover  the  world 
from  the  far  horizon  to  your  very  feet. 

You  have  hung  a  wondrous  tapestry;  in  the  midst  of  its  upheaval  let  it  be  fixed — 
changed  to  flaming  stone,  backed  and  bulwarked  to  the  mighty  ribs  of  earth  with  the 
unyielding  fabric  of  mountains.  Rugged  and  broken  and  strange,  the  wonder  appalls 
you.  Cast  over  it  the  clear,  light,  purple  dust  of  distance  and  the  gray  gossamer  of  ages. 
Very  faintly,  you  see  the  Grand  Canyon  in  your  fancy. — Thomas  Wood  Stevens,  in 
Leslie's  Weekly. 

The  Grand  Canyon  is  one  of  the  few  great  sights  of  the  world  that  comes  up  to  its 
reputation.  I  have  crossed  the  grandest  passes  of  the  Alps  and  Appenines,  of  the 
Lebanons  and  Balkans,  but  nothing  there  seen  stands  out  so  vehemently  grand  as  my 
memory  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  This  glorious  handiwork  of  the  Creator  speaks  to  the 
soul  as  a  printed  book  cannot. — Rev.  W.  H.  Withrow,  Editor  Methodist  Magazine, 
Toronto,  Ont. 

We  don't  realize  what  we  have  in  this  country  in  the  way  of  scenery.  Out  there  in 
Arizona  is  a  scenic  wonder,  the  like  of  which,  world-wide  travelers  say  is  not  to  be  found 
anywhere  on  earth.  When  the  great  chasm  opened  before  me  I  caught  my  breath  and 
murmured:  "My  God,  there  it  is!"  Nearly  everyone  who  visits  the  canyon  for  the  first 
time  gives  involuntary  expression  to  some  such  phrase.  It  draws  upon  the  emotions  as 
no  sermon,  no  oration,  could  possibly  do,  and  men  of  rigid  exterior  and  neglectful  reli- 
gious habits  have  been  known  to  bend  in  reverence  before  this  sublime  mystery.  It  was 
twelve  miles  tb  the  opposite  brink  where  we  looked  and  over  a  mile  to  the  bottom,  along 
which  the  great  Colorado,  resembling  a  tiny  yellow  ribbon  as  it  zigzagged  on  its  fretful 
course,  has  flowed  and  roared  for  ages — a  body  of  water  ten  times  the  size  of  the  Nile, 
and  with  power  enough,  could  it  be  utilized,  to  feed  numberless  manufactories. — 
Frank  Caughey,  Vice-President  Detroit  Board  of  Trade,  in  Detroit  Free  Press. 


If  you  want  grandeur  for  the  eye,  elixir  for  the  lungs  and  a  novel  experience  for  the 
mind,  come  here.  ^  "^  ■»  Four  days  from  New  York,  and  you  find  yourself  in  a 
world  as  new  and  remarkable  as  some  dream  vision  might  provide.  *  *  *  You  are 
overcome,  blinded,  awed,  startled  by  the  splendor  of  color  and  the  magnificence  of  design 
in  which  Nature  has  indulged  herself  *  *  *  It  is  like  an  excavated  city  of  the  gods 
of  Olympus.  *  *  *  Whatever  else  you  have  seen  of  the  wonders  of  the  earth,  do 
not  believe  you  have  seen  the  most  wonderful  until  you  have  stood  on  the  rim  of  the 
Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona. — Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox,  in  New  York  Journal. 


115 


COMMENTS. 


There  are  rivers  in  Europe  that  delight  tourists  and  are  world-renowned — the  beau- 
tiful blue  Danube,  the  castle-bordered  Rhine  and  the  Rhone,  born  in  a  glacier  high  up 
in  the  mountains  of  Switzerland — but  here  we  have  a  river  of  the  new  world  which, 
having  its  origin  in  the  deep  solitudes  of  the  Rockies,  carves  out  a  weirdly  eventful  his- 
tory for  itself.  It  passes  through  mighty  gorges,  tumbles  in  cataracts,  falls  in  rapids,  is 
fed  by  the  innumerable  mountain  springs  and  rivulets  and  rivers,  and  rushes  along  to  its 
goal,  the  ocean.  Leaving  the  Grand  Canyon  it  continues  its  winding  course  away  from 
the  habitations  of  man,  through  the  burning  plains  of  a  great  arid  desert,  losing  its 
identity  forever  in  the  great  Gulf  of  California. — Arthur  K.  Peck. 


Remoteness  can  no  longer  excuse  the  transcontinental  traveler  for  failing  to  see  this, 
America's  grandest  spectacle;  for  of  the  three  great  wonders  of  the  western  world,  the 
Yellowstone,  the  Yosemite  and  the  Grand  Canyon,  the  latter  is  now  the  most  easily 
reached.  '•'  *  '^''  Let  no  one  imagine,  as  he  first  looks  out  over  the  chaos  of  cliffs, 
terraces,  domes,  obelisks  and  buttes  of  fantastic  shape,  that  he  has  really  seen  the  canyon. 
He  has  merely  read  the  first  line  in  the  preface  of  a  book,  which  never  once  repeats 
itself. — H.  G.  Peabody,  in  "Glimpses  of  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona." 


The  most  imposing  panorama  in  Norway,  according  to  the  popular  judgment,  is  the 
"Raftsund,"  in  the  Lofoten  Islands,  which  was  selected  by  the  Norwegian  government  as 
presenting  the  highest  type  of  national  scenery  for  exhibition  in  the  form  of  a  cyclorama 
at  the  Paris  Exposition.  Emperor  William  of  Germany,  who  comes  into  the  fjords  of 
Norway  nearly  every  year  in  his  yacht,  has  erected  a  cabin  on  the  top  of  one  of  the 
mountains,  from  which  he  can  obtain  a  bird's-eye  view  of  a  large  area,  and  it  is  declared 
that  from  his  eyrie  may  be  witnessed  the  greatest  variety  of  mountain  scenery  in  the 
world.  The  Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado  could  swallow  up  all  the  fjords  in  the 
Lofoten  Islands  and  conceal  them  from  human  view;  the  brilliant  colors  of  its  walls  are 
not  seen  in  Norway.  Here  we  have  only  the  dull,  dark,  gray  rock,  with  its  cushions  of 
velvet  moss  and  scrub  pine,  the  intense  glittering  white  of  newly  fallen  snow,  the  "baby 
blue"  tints  of  the  glaciers  and  the  dark  sullen  green  of  the  deep  waters. — William  E. 
Curtis,  in  Chicago  Record- Herald. 


TRAIL   PARTY  LEAVING   EL  TOVAR. 


CORNER   OK    THE   RENDEZVOUS.  EL    EOVAR. 


ii6 


COMMENTS. 


The  Grand  Canyon.  What  is  it?  I  do  not  know;  you  do  not  know;  God  only 
knows.  When  I  stood  for  more  than  an  hour  on  Sunset  Rock  and  the  sun  went  down 
below  the  horizon,  and  I  viewed  the  various  changes  of  light  and  shade,  I  immediately 
thought  of  the  next  change,  and  the  inimitable  words,  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee,"  came 
forcibly  to  mind.  I  have  seen  many  wonders  in  the  world,  both  natural  and  artificial — 
St.  Peter's  of  Rome,  Mont  Blanc,  the  Matterhorn,  the  magnificent  scenery  of  the  Rhine, 
the  beauties  of  Ireland  (not  forgetting  the  Lakes  of  Killarney),  the  lovely  gardens  of 
England,  the  roaring  Atlantic,  Niagara  Falls,  etc.,  but  all  sink  into  insignificance  com- 
pared with  the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  If  you  have  any  desire  to  know 
the  Grand  Canyon,  rely  neither  on  poet  nor  writer,  but  see  it  with  your  own  eyes.  None 
other  can  transmit  its  wonders. —  Geo.  B.  Reeve,   Second  Vice-President  and  General 


Manager,  Grand  Trunk  Railway  System. 


The  Iron  Gates  of  the  Danube  and  the  river  gorges  of  the  Caucasus  might  be 
multiplied  a  hundred  times  and  they  could  be  buried  in  one  side  gorge  of  this  king  of 
gorges.  Careful  estimates  show  that  the  main  canyon  with  its  tributaries,  if  placed  in 
one  continuous  length,  would  reach  over  twenty  thousand  miles,  and  any  mile  of  this 
distance  would  far  surpass  any  mountain  gorge  to  be  found  in  England,  Scotland,  Ireland 
or  Wales. 

My  camp  at  the  canyon  is  in  the  sweep  of  a  vast  amphitheater.  It  extends  from 
"cusp  to  cusp,"  over  sixty  miles.  It  is  from  6,000  to  7,000  feet  deep.  From  the  rim 
to  the  wild  river  which  turbulently  dashes  through  its  inner  gorge  of  granite  it  is  about 
seven  miles.  In  other  words  it  is  from  twelve  to  fifteen  miles,  in  a  straight  line  across 
the  canyon,  from  rim  to  rim,  at  any  point  in  this  amphitheater. 

Make,  in  imagination,  a  real  theater  of  this  vast  space.  Allowing  twice  as  much 
room  for  the  seat  of  each  person  as  is  given  in  the  most  comfortable  theater  in  existence, 
you  could  seat  here  an  audience  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of  people.  And  these 
would  all  be  in  the  stalls  on  this  side.  An  orchestra  of  one  hundred  million  pieces  and 
a  chorus  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  million  voices  could  be  placed  very  comfortably  on 
the  opposite  side.      Is  it  in  the  power  of  the  unaided  imagination  to  conceive  such  ascene? 

If  the  waters  of  the  Thames,  Severn,  Trent,  Ouse,  Tyne,  Tay  and  Clyde,  were  a  1 
massed  together,  they  would  flow  in  the  dark  depths  of  the  inner  gorge,  and  one.  standing 
on  the  rim  and  looking  down  upon  the  rapidly  flowing  waves  would  see  only  a  silverv 
ribbon,  here  and  there  glistening  in  the  brilliant  Arizona  sunlight. — G.  Wharton  James, 
in  Alkahest  Magazine. 

The  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  fills  me  with  awe.  It  is  beyond  comparison — beyond 
description;  absolutely  unparalleled  throughout  the  wide  world.  *  *  *  Lg^-  ^^a^ 
great  wonder  of  nature  remain  as  it  now  is.  Do  nothing  to  mar  its  grandeur,  sublimitv 
and  loveliness.  You  cannot  improve  on  it.  But  what  you  can  do  is  to  keep  it  for  your 
children,  your  children's  children,  and  all  who  come  after  you,  as  the  one  great  sight 
which  every  American  should  see. — President  Theodore  Roosevelt,  in  speech  at 
Grand  Canyon,  May  6,  1903. 

At  El  Tovar  there  is  a  billiard  room,  also  a  large  music  room — both  beautiful  apart- 
ments.    Although  there  were  many  guests,  the   billiard   tables,  piano  and   waxed   floor 

117 


COMMENTS. 


were  seldom  used.  This  seeme'd  strange  until  I  got  under  the  spell  of  the  canyon. 
That  titanic  chasm  won't  permit  games  and  dancing.  It  is  fascinating  to  such  a  degree 
that  one  wishes  to  look  at  it  all  the  time.  Describe  it?  A  man  who  has  never  seen  it  can 
do  that  better  than  one  who  has  been  under  its  charm.  I  am  going  back  again  some  day. 
— Walter  H.  Page,  Editor  World's  Work,  in  newspaper  interview.  May  25,  1905. 
» 
What  is  it  like.'*  It  is  like  itself  only  of  all  things  earthly.  Other  planets,  indeed, 
may  have  one  such  among  them,  or  it  seems  they  should  have;  but  two  is  enough  for 
an  infinite  scheme — one  for  angels,  somewhere — and  one  for  men,  in  Arizona.  *  *  * 
This  is  God's  Reservation.  "Thus  far"  is  v/ritten  in  characters  of  living  light,  as  clear, 
as  sure  as  the  writing  on  Belshazzar's  palace  wall.  "This  much,"  says  God,  "you  can 
spare  to  me  wherein  I  may  impart  to  man  ideas  of  light  and  space,  of  height  and  depth." 
—Rev.  S.  L.   McKee,  West  Salem,  Wis. 


Behold  the  realm  where  Colorado  flows ! 

Here  countless  centuries  have  wrought  their  will 

In  forms  majestic  with  impellent  skill; 
Cathedrals  reared  their  naves  from  this  repose, 
With  pomp  of  giant  pinnacle  where  glows 

The  sunset;  and  a  stream,  that  scarce  might  fill 

An  emperor's  chalice,  carved  its  way  until 
The  sculptures  of  a  million  years  uprose. 

And  from  the  imbedded  silence  of  this  stone — 
Strange  hieroglyphic  tomb  of  time's  decay —  ' 

The  river's  voice  forever  stronger  grown, 
A  sunlit  spirit  in  its  shadowing  clay. 

Sings  to  the  soul,  that  makes  impatient  moan 
And  speeds  it  blithely  on  unto  the  open  day. 

— Louise  Morgan  Sill,  in  Harper's  Weekly,  May  4,  1901 


Vishnu,  the  gods  of  old  are  dead!      Long  dead 

Are  Zeus,  Astarte,  and  that  lotus-flower 

I  sis  of  Egypt.      Meets  each  his  hour. 
Yet  thou,  silent  within  thy  temple  dread. 
Locked  against  prayers,  mounted  above  the  tread 

Of  climbing  feet;  thou  from  thy  purple  tower 

Contemplatest  the  stern  inscrutable  power 
Whence  all  things  come  and  whither  all  are  led. 
The  day  in  splendor  of  lilac  and  clear  blue 

Visits  thy  mighty  seat.     The  sapphire  night 

Broods  in  the  abyss  with  darkness,  and  the  rain 
Drapes  thee  with  clouds,  hails  thee  and  bids  adieu 

In  thunder.      Steadfast  on  thy  terraced  height 

Thou  seest  bold  Time  besiege  thy  throne  in  vain. 

— Temple  of  Vishnu,  Grand  Canyon,  by  Wm   T.  Patchell. 

118 


COMMENTS. 


GRAND    CANYON    OF    ARIZONA. 

w  vr  w  w  Tr 


O  symphony  of  form  and  color  and  silence, 

Dream-like  in  your  deep  of  luminous  ether, 

Your  faint-blue,  shimmering  sea  of  haze,  strata-rippled; 

Am  I  not  indeed  looking  down  into  some  lake  enchanted, 

Seeing  the  City  that  all  men  seek  forever 

Reflected  there  from  heaven?  Bj^croft  LibSQ 

Surely  this  is  not  real,  earth-born  or  earth-included! 

Hark!  from  far,  far  below  a  murmur, 
A  roar  in  a  breath  and  a  whisper. 
The  Still  Small  Voice  audibly, 
The  sound  of  the  sea  in  a  shell. 

Save  this,  over  all,  holding  all,  the  Arizona  stillness. 

Color-steeped,  sun-saturated. 

The  great,  wide,  brooding,  wonderful  hush  of  the  desert. 

O  what  wait  you  for,  O  Desert,  soft  and  terrible. 

Motionless,  beautiful  and  infinite? 

Why  are  you  so  calm  and  expectant? 

What  god,  what  cycle,  is  coming? 

Are  you  only  the  wise,  O  Desert? 

Is  it  you  that  hold  the  Meaning? 

— J.  William   Lloyd,  The  Conservator,  Philadelphia. 


I  stood  upon  the  rim  of  some  strange  world — 
♦Vague,  silent,  mystical — its  depths  unfurled 
In  splendid,  sloping  terraces,  mist-hung. 
And  wondrous  in  the  shifting  colors  flung 
Like  draperies  of  gauze  'twixt  space  and  sun. 

A  sleeping  silver  snake,  seen  from  the  heights. 
The  far-ofl^  river  rushing  to  its  doom. 

From  startling  depths  a  city  rose  to  view, 

Builded  in  ages  when  the  earth  was  new — 
Vast  hanging  gardens,  gay  in  mineral  bloom. 
Enchanted  castles,  silent  as  the  tomb; 

Domes,  towers  and  ramparts,  bathed  in  violet  lights, 
And  tints — an  artist's  rapture  and  despair — 
Ten  million  sunsets  must  have  shattered  there. 

— Henry  Cleveland  Wood   in  Four  Track  News. 


119 


EL  TOVAR   HOTEL. 


Photo  by  Putnam  &  Valentine. 


GRAND  VIEW   HOTEL  AND  ANNEX. 


Phulo  by  Maude. 


INFORMATION  FOR    TOURISTS. 


PRELIMINARY. 

HERE  is  only  one  way  by  which  to  directly  reach  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona 
and  that  is  via  the  Santa  Fe  (The  Atchison,  Topeka  &  Santa  Fe  Railway  System). 
There    are  two  ways    of   reaching  the   canyon    from  the  Santa  Fe — rail 
from  Williams,  and  private  conveyance  from   Flagstaff. 

The  route  from    Flagstaff  is  not  available   in  winter.      The   bulk   of  the 
travel  is  via  Williams,  sixty-four  miles  north  to  El  Tovar — open  all  the  year. 

THE  FOUR  TRAILS. 

There  are  but  three  points  from  which  an  easy  descent  may  be  made  of  the  south  wall 
of  the  Grand  Canyon  in  the  vicinity  of  the  granite  gorge, 

I.  At  Grand  View,  down  Grand  View  and  Red  Canyon  trails. 

1.  At  El  Tovar,  down  Bright  Angel  Trail. 

3.  At  Bass'  Camp,  down  Bass  Trail, 

While  the  canyon  is  accessible  over  trails  at  other  places  outside  of  the  district 
named  (such  as  Lee's  Ferry  Trail,  by  wagon  from  Winslow;  Moki  Indian  Trail,  byway 
of  Little  Colorado  Canyon;  and  Diamond  Creek  road  to  Colorado  River  from  Peach 
Springs  station),  tourists  take  the  F^l  Tovar,  Grand  View  and  Bass'  Camp  routes, 
because  of  the  superior  facilities  and  views  there  offered. 

It  is  near  Grand  View  that  Marble  Canyon  ends  and  the  Grand  Canyon  proper  begins. 
Northward,  eighteen  miles  away,  is  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Colorado  Canyon.  From 
Grand  View  the  beginning  of  the  granite  gorge  is  first  seen. 

El  Tovar  is  approximately  in  the  center,  and  Bass'  Camp  at  the  western  end  of  the 
granite  gorge.  By  wagon  road  it  is  about  thirteen  miles  from  El  Tovar  east  to  Grand 
View,  and  twenty-three  miles  west  to  Bass'  Camp. 

The  Grand  Canyon  as  seen  from  Grand  View  is  ideally  beautiful — a  scene  of  wide 
outlooks  and^ brilliant  hues;  at  El  Tovar,  deepest  and  most  impressive — a  scene  that 
awakens  the  profoundest  emotions;  at  Bass'  Camp,  the  most  varied — a  scene  of  strik- 
ing contrasts  in  form  and  color. 

Each  locality  has  its  special  charm.  All  should  be  visited,  if  time  permits,  as  only  by 
long  observation  can  one  gain  even  a  superficial  knowledge  of  what  the  Grand  Canyon  is. 

THE  RIDE  FROM  WILLIAMS. 

Because  of  recent  improvements  in  service  the  Grand  Canyon  of  Arizona  may 
now  be  visited,  either  in  summer  or  winter,  with  perfect  comfort.  No  one  need  be 
deterred  by  fear  of  inclement  weather.     The  trip  is  entirely  feasible  every  day  in  the  year. 

Leaving  the  Santa  Fe  transcontinental  train  at  Williams,  Arizona,  passengers  change 
in  same  depot  to  a  local  train  of  the  Grand  Canyon  Railway,  which  leaves  Williams  twice 
a  day,  and  arrives  at  destination  after  a  three  hours'  run. 

Williams  is  a  busy  town  of  1,500  inhabitants,  378  miles  west  of  Albuquerque,  on  the 
Santa  Fe,  Here  are  located  large  sawmills,  smelters,  numerous  well-stocked  stores  and 
railroad  division  buildings.  The  Grand  Canyon  Hotel — a  large  brick  edifice  of  forty 
rooms,  with  electric  lights  and  first-class  dining-room — affords  good  accommodations. 

121 


INFORMATION  FOR  TOURISTS. 


There  is  usually  ample  time  at  Williams,  between  trains,  for  the  ascent  of  Williams 
Mountain,  which  rises  near  the  town  to  a  height  of  9,000  feet.  Tourists  will  find  the 
trip  thoroughly  enjoyable.  It  can  be  made  in  five  hours  on  horseback  in  perfect  safety. 
The  trail  is  an  easy  one,  first  leading  through  a  gently  sloping  path  of  pines,  then  steeply 
up  to  the  wind-swept  summit  alongside  a  pretty  stream  bordered  by  thickets  of  quaking 
aspens.  Chimney  Rock,  with  its  eagle's  nest,  is  a  noteworthy  rock  formation.  On  the 
summit  is  buried  the  pioneer  scout.  Bill  Williams.  From  his  resting-place  there  is  a 
wide  outlook  on  the  eastern  horizon.  Kendricks,  Sitgreaves  and  Williams  mountains 
are  also  visible.  Red  Butte,  thirty  miles  distant,  is  a  prominent  local  landmark.  Before 
the  terminus  is  reached  the  train  climbs  a  long,  high  ridge  and  enters  Coconino  Forest, 
which  resembles  a  natural  park. 

ELTOVAR   HOTEL. 

The  most  unique,  most  comfortable,  and  one  of  the  costliest  resort  hotels  in  the 
Southwest  has  recently  been  built  by  the  Santa  Fe  at  the  railway  terminus  and  not  far 
from  the  head  of  Bright  Angel  Trail. 

It  is  named  El  Tovar,  after  Don  Pedro  Tovar,  a  Spanish  conquistador  whose  name 
is  linked  with  the  discovery  of  the  Grand  Canyon  by  Coronado's  men  in  1540.  It  is 
under  the  general  management  of  Mr.  Fred  Harvey. 

El  Tovar  is  a  long,  low,  rambling  structure,  built  of  native  boulders  and  pine  logs. 
From  north  to  south  the  width  is  327  feet;  from  east  to  west,  218  feet.  The  height 
varies  from  three  to  four  stories.  There  are  more  than  a  hundred  sleeping-rooms,  with 
accommodations  for  upwards  of  250  guests. 

The  building  is  in  complete  harmony  with  the  surroundings.  Not  a  Waldorf-Astoria 
(admirable  as  that  type  is  for  a  city),  but  a  hotel  that  the  traveler,  seeking  the  best,  will 
find  wholly  to  his  liking — a  country  clubhouse  is  the  nearest  type,  but  El  Tovar  is  more 
than  that. 

From  every  room  one  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  Grand  Canyon  and  Coconino  Forest. 
Seven  miles  away  by  trail,  and  a  mile,  if  measured  straight  downward,  is  the  Colorado 
River,  its  tumult  never  reaching  the  upper  stillness.  The  north  rim  is  thirteen  dizzy 
miles  across. 

At  some  period  of  the  day  the  sun  enters  every  part  of  the  hotel.  There  are  spacious 
sheltered  and  open  verandas  and  roof  gardens,  enabling  guests  to  enjoy  the  sunshine  and 
the  invigorating  mountain  air.  Everywhere  a  riot  of  color  and  beauty  of  form — a  vision 
unspeakable. 

Some  of  the  most  attractive  features  are: 

A  solarium — just  the  place  for  a  sun  bath  should  the  day  happen  to  be  chilly. 

A  music-room,  which  is  artistically  decorated  and  handsomely  furnished. 

A  clubroom,  where  may  be  found  billiard  and  pool  tables,  shuffie-board,  and  other 
means  of  indoor  enjoyment. 

The  rendezvous — similar  to  the  lounging  room  of  a  country  club — finished  in  logs 
with  huge  stone  fireplaces. 

Main  dining-room,  38x89  feet — has  log  walls,  a  rough-board  arched  ceiling  supported 
by  great  log  trusses,  and  two  stone  fireplaces.  On  each  side  are  private  dining-rooms. 
The  cuisine  is  Harvey's  best. 

122 


INFORMATION  FOR  TOURISTS. 


Many  of  the  bedrooms  are  en  suite  with  bath.  Hot  and  cold  water,  steam  heat,  and 
electric  light  are  generously  supplied.  Among  the  minor  comforts  may  be  mentioned  a 
telephone  in  each  room,  with  direct  office  connection.  El  Tovar  also  has  up-to-date 
culinary  and  laundry  departments. 

The  protection  against  fire  is  very  complete.  The  plant  furnishing  heat,  light,  ice, 
power,  and  water  is  far  enough  removed  to  be  unobjectionable.  The  sewage  is  perfectly 
disposed  of, 

Merely  that  guests  may  have  absolutely  pure  water  to  drink,  it  is  brought  from  a 
spring  1 20  miles  distant,  filtered  three  times,  and  aerated. 

Kl  Tovar  not  only  has  the  advantage  of  being  located  in  the  midst  of  the  world's 
grandest  scenery,  but  it  provides  solid  comfort,  rest  and  recreation  every  day  in  the  year. 
The  climate  here  is  cool  in  summer  and  generally  mild  in  winter,  with  almost  continual 
sunshine.  The  occasional  midwinter  snowstorms  along  the  rim  are  usually  of  short 
duration. 

The  hotel  is  conducted  on  the  American  plan;  rates  $4.00  a  day  and  upwaids.  Livery 
may  be  hired  for  drives  along  the  rim.  Trail  animals  and  guides  are  furnished  for  trips 
down  the  trail.  Hon">eback:  rides  may  be  taken,  or  one  may  saunter  along  winding  paths 
where  canyon  and  forest  meet.     The  opportunities  for  sight-seeing  are  innumerable. 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  necessary  expense  for  a  stop-over  of  several  days  need  not 
be  very  heavy.  If  one  chooses  to  economize,  there  is  opportunity  to  get  cozy  lodgings 
in  cabin  or  tent  at  Bright  Angel  Camp,  adjacent,  for  ^5^  c0i^  a  night,  each  person,  meals 
being  furnished  on  European  plan  at  Harvey  cafe.  .  .The-aceommodations  here  are  clean, 
wholesome,  and  thoroughly  comfortable. 

Fifty  yards  from  El  Tovar  is  an  exact  reproduction  of  the  curious  two- and  three-story 
stone  and  adobe  dwellings  of  the  Hopi  Indians,  together  with  several  Navajo  hogans. 

In  the  Hopi  House  are  installed  some  of  the  prize-winning  collections  of  Indian 
handiwork  exhibited  by  Mr.  Harvey  at  the  St.  Louis  World's  Fair.  Here  also  live  a 
small  band  of  Hopis.  Without  exception  these  are  the  most  primitive  Indians  in  our 
country.  Their  ceremonies  are  hundreds  of  years  old,  the  most  famous  being  that  of 
the  snake  dance.  The  men  weave  fine  blankets  and  the  women  make  pottery.  Among 
the  Navajos  are  blanket-weavers  and  silversmiths.  Supais  from  Cataract  Canyon  fre- 
quently visit  El  Tovar. 

El  Tovar  furnishes  the  crowning  reason  why  you  should  visit  the  Grand  Canyon. 

DOWN   BRIGHT  ANGEL  TRAIL. 

The  trail  here  is  perfectly  safe  and  is  generally  open  the  year  round.  In  midwinter 
it  is  liable  to  be  closed  for  a  few  days  at  the  top  by  snow,  but  such  blockade  is  only 
temporary.  It  reaches  from  the  hotel  four  miles  to  the  top  of  the  granite  wall  imme- 
diately overlooking  the  Colorado  River.  At  this  point  the  river  is  1,272  feet  below, 
while  the  hotel  on  the  rim  is  3,158  feet  above.  The  trip  is  commonly  made  on  horse- 
back, accompanied  by  a  guide;  charges  for  trail  stock  and  services  of  guide  are  moderate. 
A  strong  person,  accustomed  to  mountain  climbing,  can  make  the  round  trip  on  foot  in 
one  day,  by  starting  early  enough;  but  the  average  traveler  will  soon  discover  that  a 
horse  is  a  necessity,  especially  for  the  upward  climb. 

Eight  hours  are  required  for  going  down  and  coming  back,  allowing  two  hours  for 

123 


THE  RENDEZVOUS. 


Copyright,  l»oi,  by  Detroit  Photographic  Co, 


THE   MAIN    DINING   ROOM. 


INFORMATION  FOR   TOURISTS. 


lunch,  rest  and  sight-seeing.  Those  wishing  to  reach  the  river  leave  the  main  trail  at 
Indian  Garden  Spring  and  follow  the  downward  course  of  Indian  Garden  and  Pipe  creeks. 
Provision  is  made*  for  those  wishing  to  camp  out  at  night  on  the  river's  edge,  also  at 
Indian  Garden. 

DRIPPING  SPRING  TRAIL. 

About  eight  miles  west  of  El  Tovar  is  Boucher  Trail,  built  many  years  ago  by 
Louis  Boucher.  The  upper  section  zigzags  downward  for  more  than  three  miles,  fol- 
lowing a  side  ravine  into  Hermit  Basin  and  across  the  abrupt  face  of  a  white  sandstone 
cliff  to  Dripping  Spring,  where  a  small  tent  camp  has  been  picturesquely  located.  Thence 
the  trail  continues  down  an  easy  slope  for  nearly  two  miles  and  then  fearlessly  out  into 
the  canyon  on  the  top  of  the  red  sandstone  wall  and  close  to  its  edge.  The  pathway 
beyond  and  below  to  the  river  is  not  finished  and  is  rarely  used.  The  view  at  the 
"red-wall"  terminus  is  unequaled.  One  seems  to  be  suspended  in  mid-air,  imprisoned  on 
all  sides  by  huge  walls. 

The  round  trip.  El  Tovar  to  Dripping  Spring,  may  be  made  in  a  day;  there  is  an 
excellent  wagon  road  by  way  of  Rowe's  Well.  A  feasible  trail  along  the  inner  plateau 
connects  Boucher  and  Cameron  camps;  distance  about  nineteen  miles,  and  time  required 
two  days. 

GRAND  VIEW. 

Grand  View  Hotel  and  Grand  View  Trail  are  reached  by  a  pleasant  forest  drive  of 
thirteen  and  one-half  miles  east  from  El  Tovar. 

Grand  View  is  a  cozy  inn,  noted  for  its  commanding  situation  and  delightful  sur- 
roundings. It  has  been  open  to  visitors  since  the  days  of  the  old  Flagstaff  stage  line. 
The  original  log  structure  is  now  devoted  to  the  lounging  and  dining  rooms,  while  a  new 
building,  near  by,  contains  guest-rooms,  bath,  etc.  Both  buildings  are  warmed  by  steam 
and  both  have  wide  fire-places. 

The  hotel  stands  upon  the  highest  elevation  of  the  south  rim  of  the  canyon.  The 
broad  piazzas,  overlook  a  scene  of  vast  extent.  The  canyon  here  makes  its  initial  curve, 
swinging  from  the  Painted  Desert  into  the  Kaibab  Plateau. 

Across  this  portion  of  the  canyon  the  view  extends,  including  not  only  the  wondrous 
abyss,  but  far  beyond  it  the  rugged  wastes  of  the  Painted  Desert  to  the  dome  of  Navajo 
Mountain,  120  miles  away. 

Grand  View  Trail  enters  the  canyon  near  Grand  View  Point.  It  is  a  safe,  wide  and 
carefully  constructed  trail,  noted  for  its  extensive  and  varied  views.  A  trail  recently 
built  for  convenience  in  packing  ore  from  a  mine  in  the  canyon  descends  directly  from 
Grand  View  Point,  joining  the  main  trail  a  short  distance  down. 

Half  a  mile  down  the  rim  Grand  View  Trail  runs  out  upon  an  airy  plateau  called 
Horse-shoe  Mesa.  On  this  Mesa  are  comfortable  cottages,  and  reguW  meals  are  served 
to  parties  who  spend  a  night  or  more  here  in  the  heart  of  the  Grand  Canyon.  Trails 
lead  from  Horse-shoe  Mesa  in  all  directions  into  the  lower  depths  of  the  canyon,  to 
various  remarkable  outlooks,  to  the  Colorado  River  at  several  points,  and  to  unfamiliar 
parts  of  the  interior  of  the  canyon. 

The  Limestone  caves,  on  Horse-shoe  Mesa,  are  caverns  well  worth  a  visit.  The 
largest  one  may  be  penetrated  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

125 


INFORMATION  FOR  TOURISTS. 


Outside  of  the  Canyon,  along  its  brink  and  about  the  great  plateau,  many  walks,  rides 
and  drives  may  be  taken  from  Grand  View  Hotel. 

f 

Moran,  Bissell,  Hollenbeck  and  other  renowned  points  on  the  rim  of  the  Grand 
Canyon  are  within  a  few  hours  of  Grand  View  Hotel.  The  rim  trail  to  Moran  Point, 
where  one  may  ride  for  two  miles  close  along  the  edge,  gives  unequaled  panoramic  views 
of  the  depths  below.  Ruined  cliff  dwellings  of  a  prehistoric  race  are  a  feature  of  interest 
all  about  Grand  View. 

Rates  at  Grand  View  Hotel,  or  at  the  cottages  in  the  canyon,  or  on  camping  trips, 
are  ^3.00  to  $4.00  per  day,  and  |i8  to  $25  per  week.  Stage  fare,  ^3.00  round  trip; 
trunks,  ^2.00  round  trip.  Saddle  and  pack  animals,  carriages  and  experienced  guides 
supplied  at  reasonable  rates. 

BASS'  CAMP. 

At  the  western  end  of  the  granite  gorge  is  Bass  Trail,  an  easy  route  down  to  the 
Colorado  River  and  up  the  other  side  to  Point  Sublime  and  Powell's  Plateau.  The 
magnificent  panorama  eastward  from  Havasupai  Point  takes  in  fifty  miles  of  the  canyon, 
while  westward  is  the  unique  table-like  formation  which  characterizes  the  lower  reaches 
of  the  river.  The  views  here,  from  both  rims,  are  pronounced  by  noted  artists  and 
explorers  to  be  unequaled. 

Present  accommodations  at  Bass'  Camp,  near  head  of  this  trail,  are  fairly  good,  con- 
sisting of  a  frame  cabin,  several  tents  and  good  trail  stock;  wholesome  meals  are  served. 

Bass'  Camp  is  reached  by  team  from  El  Tovar,  twenty-three  miles. 

The  trip  to  Cataract  Canyon  is  elsewhere  described.  ! 

FLAGSTAFF  AND  VICINITY. 

In  his  "Climbing  Sunset  Mountain"  Professor  Beecher  has  mentioned  one  of  the 
many  attractions  for  tourists  in  the  vicinity  of  Flagstaff. 

The  town  itself  is  an  interesting  place,  prettily  situated  in  the  heart  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco uplift  and  surrounded  by  a  pine  forest.  On  a  neighboring  hill  is  the  noted  Lowell 
Observatory. 

Eight  miles  southeast  from  Flagstaff" — reached  by  a  pleasant  drive  along  a  level 
road  through  tall  pines — is  the  Walnut  Canyon,  a  rent  in  the  earth  several  hundred  feet 
deep  and  three  miles  long,  with  steep  terraced  walls  of  limestone.  Along  the  shelving 
terraces,  under  beetling  projections  of  the  strata,  are  scores  of  quaint  cliff  dwellings,  the 
most  famous  group  of  its  kind  in  this  region.  The  larger  abodes  are  divided  into 
several  compartments  by  cemented  walls,  many  parts  of  which  are  still  intact.  It  is 
believed  that  these  cliff  dwellers  were  of  the  same  stock  as  the  Pueblo  Indians  of  to-day. 

Nine  miles  from  Flagstaff  and  only  half  a  mile  from  the  old  stage  road  to  the 
Grand  Canyon,  upon  the  summit  of  an  extinct  crater,  the  remarkable  ruins  of  the  cave- 
dwellers  may  be  seen. 

The  magnificent  San  Francisco  Peaks,  visible  from  every  part  of  the  country  within 
a  radius  of  a  hundred  miles,  lie  just  north  of  Flagstaff.  There  are  three  peaks  which 
form  one  mountain.      From  Flagstaff"  a  road  ten   miles   long   has    been   constructed  up 

126 


INFORMATION  FOR    TOURISTS. 


Humphrey's  Peak,  whose  summit  is  12,750  feet  above  sea  level.     The  trip  to  the  sum- 
mit and  back  is  easily  made  in  one  day. 

There  is  also  a  first-class  road  from  Flagstaff  to  the  Grand  Canyon  at  Grand  View, 
seventy-five  miles,  open  for  travel  in  spring,  summer,  and  fall.  A  two  days'  trip  each 
way  by  wagon.  Supplies,  camp  outfits,  and  teams  procurable  at  Flagstaff;  cost  of  team 
and  driver  about  $5.00  a  day.  A  very  enjoyable  drive  through  pine  forests  and  across 
green  mesas,  along  the  old  stage  route  to  the  canyon. 

The  summit  of  Humphrey's  Peak  affords  a  noble  view,  the  panorama  including  the 
north  wall  of  the  Grand  Canyon,  the  Painted  Desert,  the  Moki  villages,  the  Superstition 
Mountains  near  Phoenix,  many  lakes,  and  far  glimpses  over  a  wide  circle. 

WHAT  TO  BRING. 

If  much  tramping  is  done  stout,  thick  shoes  should  be  provided.  Ladies  will  find 
that  short  walking  skirts  are  a  convenience;  divided  skirts  are  preferable,  but  not  essential, 
for  the  horseback  journey  down  the  zigzag  trail.  Traveling  caps  and  (in  summer)  broad- 
brimmed  straw  hats  are  useful  toilet  adjuncts.  Otherwise  ordinary  clothing  will  suffice. 
A  good  field  glass  and  camera  should  be  brought  along.  Divided  skirts  and  straw  hats 
may  be  rented  at  El  Tovar  and  Grand  View  hotels. 

COST  OF  TRIP. 

The  round-trip  ticket  rate,  Williams  to  Grand  Canyon  and  return,  is  only  $6.50. 
Adding  I4.00  to  |8.oo  for  two  days'  stay  at  Canyon  Hotel,  I2.00  for  part  of  a  day  at 
hotel  in  Williams,  $2.50  for  probable  proportion  of  cost  of  guide,  $3.00  for  trail  stock, 
and  the  total  necessary  expense  of  the  three  days' stop-over  is  about  |2i. 00  for  one 
person;  each  additional  day  only  adds  a  few  dollars  to  the  cost  for  hotel. 

Stop-overs  will  be  granted  at  Williams  on  railroad  and  Pullman  tickets  if  advance 
application  is  made  to  train  and  Pullman  conductors.  Baggage  may  be  stored  in  the 
station  at  Wiljiams  free  of  charge  by  arrangement  with  ticket  agent.  Pullman  sleeper 
service  has  been  established  to  and  from  the  Grand  Canyon. 

LENGTH   OF  STAY. 

While  one  ought  to  remain  a  week  or  two,  a  stop-over  of  three  days  from  the  trans- 
continental trip  will  allow  practically  two  days  at  the  canyon.  One  full  day  should  be 
devoted  to  an  excursion  down  Bright  Angel  Trail,  and  the  other  can  be  given  to  carriage 
rides  along  the  rim  or  a  trip  to  Grand  View.  Another  day — making  a  four-days'  stop- 
over in  all — will  enable  visitors  to  get  more  satisfactory  views  of  this  stupendous  wonder. 

Most  persons  make  the  mistake  of  trying  to  see  the  canyon  in  too  short  a  time. 
They  rush  in,  rush  around  and  rush  out.  That's  the  wrong  way.  The  right  way  is  to 
take  it  leisurely.  Spend  one  night  down  in  the  canyon  by  the  river,  which  means  two 
days  instead  of  one  for  the  trail  trip.  Devote  a  whole  day  to  one  of  the  "points,"  just 
quietly  trying  to  absorb  the  panorama.  Another  day  for  another  "point."  Walk  along 
rim  trails,  or  ride  in  the  woods.  Set  aside  an  hour  or  two  every  day  for  idle  dreams  on 
the  hotel  veranda.  See  all  there  is  at  El  Tovar  and  then  tiy  Grand  View,  coming  back 
to  El  Tovar  for  a  final  look.     You  will  never  regret  the  extra  time  thus  spent. 

127 


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